By and by the ladies came in sight, some walking and others riding in the wagon; and I pitied most those who were in the wagon. As soon as they were within speaking distance, one of the ladies said: “You should have stayed for breakfast. It was quite appetizing.” Reminded of what I had lost, I was led to compare it with what I had gained, and I would not have exchanged loss and gain for anything in the world. I had to admit, however, that there was a vacuum that needed replenishing; but I was inured to hunger, and, save a passing thought, I banished all desire for food, and thought only of the loved ones, so near and yet so far, and in spite of myself the fountain of tears was again running over.
The long tramp to Stone Mountain was very lonely. Not a living thing overtook or passed us, and we soon crossed over the line and entered a war-stricken section of country where stood chimneys only, where lately were pretty homes and prosperity, now departed. Ah, those chimneys standing amid smoldering ruins! No wonder they were called “Sherman’s sentinels,” as they seemed to be keeping guard over those scenes of desolation. The very birds of the air and beasts of the field had fled to other sections. By constant and unflagging locomotion we reached StoneMountain sometime during the night. We went to the hotel and asked shelter and protection, and received both, but not where to lay our heads, as those who had preceded us had filled every available place. I had friends in the village, but I had no assurance that they had remained at home and weathered the cyclone of war. Therefore, early in the morning, hungry and footsore, I started all alone walking to Decatur. The solitude was terrific, and the feeling of awe was so intense that I was startled by the breaking of a twig, or the gruesome sound of my own footsteps. Constantly reminded by ruined homes, I realized that I was indeed within the arbitrary lines of a cruel, merciless foe, and but for my lonely mother, anxiously awaiting my return, I should have turned and run for dear life until again within the boundaries of Dixie.
I must have walked very rapidly, for, before I was aware of it, I found myself approaching Judge Bryce’s once beautiful but now dilapidated home. He and his good wife gave me affectionate greeting and something to inflate a certain vacuum which had become painfully clamorous. And they also gave me that which was even more acceptable—a large yam potato and a piece of sausage to take to my mother.
I begged Judge Bryce to go with me at least part of the way to Decatur, but he was afraid to leave his wife. His experience with the Yankees had not been an exceptional case. They had robbed him of everything of value, silver, gold, etc., and what they could not carry away they had destroyed, and he denied most emphatically that there was a single gentlemanin the Federal army. In vain did I tell him that we owed the preservation of our lives to the protection extended us by the few gentlemen who were in it.
After a brief rest, I resumed my way homeward, and oh, with what heart-sickening forebodings I approached that sacred though desolate abode! Anon the little town appeared in the distance, and upon its very limits I met several of Colonel Garrard’s cavalry officers. Among them a diversity of temper was displayed. Some of them appeared very glad to see me, and, to anxious inquires regarding my mother, they replied that they had taken good care of her in my absence, and that I ought to have rewarded them for having done so by bringing “my pretty young sister” home with me. Although I did not entertain one iota of respect for the Federal army as a whole, I knew there were a few in its ranks who were incapable of the miserable conduct of the majority, and my heart went out in very tender gratitude to them, especially those who had sought to lessen the anguish of my mother. These men threw the reins into the hands of out-riders, and got off their horses and walked with me to the door of my home. Their headquarters were still in the yard and had been ever since first established there, with the exception of a very few days. My return was truly a memorable occasion. Manifestations assured me that the highest as well as the lowest in that command was glad to see me, and in their hearts welcomed me home. To good Mr. Fred Williams I was indebted, in a large measure, for kindly feeling and uniform respect from that portion of the Federal army with which I came in contact.
My mother had seen me coming and had retreated into as secluded a place as she could find, to compose herself for the meeting, but the effort was in vain. She trembled like an aspen leaf, her lips quivered and her tongue could not articulate the words she would have spoken. Alas! the tension was more than she could bear. I dwelt upon the fact that Thomie and Missouri were well and had sent her a world of love. I tried to infuse hope and cheerfulness into everything I told her, but she could not see it, and her poor over-taxed heart could bear up no longer, and she cried as Rachel weeping for her children, long and piteously. No purer tears were ever borne by heaven-commissioned Peri into the presence of a compassionate Savior, than those shed by that patriotic though sorrowing mother.
ON THE VERGE OF STARVATION.
A worn-out army horse is found—Uncle Mack makes a wagon—I make a unique trip—Starvation is warded off—Dangers and scenes by the way.
“What is it, Ma? Has anything happened?”
“No, only Maggie Benedict has been here crying as if her heart would break, and saying that her children are begging for bread, and she has none to give them. Give me a little of the meal or hominy that you have, that we may not starve until we can get something else to eat, and then take the remainder to her that she may cook it as quickly as possible for her suffering children.”
We had spent the preceding day in picking out grains of corn from cracks and crevices in bureau drawers, and other improvised troughs for Federal horses, as well as gathering up what was scattered upon the ground. In this way by diligent and persevering work, about a half bushel was obtained from the now deserted camping ground of Garrard’s cavalry, and this corn was thoroughly washed and dried, and carried by me and Telitha to a poor little mill (which had escaped conflagration, because too humble to attract attention), and ground into coarse meal. Returning from this mill, and carrying, myself, a portion of the meal, I saw in the distance my mother coming tomeet me. Apprehensive of evil, I ran to meet her and asked:
“What is it, Ma? Has anything happened?”
With flushed face and tear-toned voice she replied as already stated. My heart was touched and a division was soon made. Before starting on this errand, I thought of the probable delay that inexperience and perhaps the want of cooking utensils and fuel might occasion, and suggested that it would hasten the relief to the children to cook some bread and mush and carry it to them already for use. A boiling pot, left on the camping-ground, was soon on the fire ready to receive the well-prepared batter, which was to be converted into nutritious mush or porridge. Nor was the bread forgotten. While the mush was cooking the hoe-cakes were baking in good old plantation style. These were arranged one upon another, and tied up in a snow-white cloth; and a tin bucket, also a trophy from the company, was filled with hot mush. I took the bread, and Telitha the bucket, and walked rapidly to Doctor Holmes’ residence, where Maggie Benedict, whose husband was away in the Confederate army, had rooms for herself and her children. The Rev. Doctor and his wife had refugeed, leaving this young mother and her children alone and unprotected.
The scene which I witnessed will never be obliterated from my memory. On the doorsteps sat the young mother, beautiful in desolation, with a baby in her arms, and on either side of her a little one, piteously crying for something to eat. “Oh, mama, I want something to eat, so bad.” “Oh, mama, I amso hungry—give me something to eat.” Thus the children were begging for what the mother had not to give. She could only give them soothing words. But relief was at hand. Have you ever enjoyed the satisfaction of appeasing the hunger of children who had been without food until on the verge of starvation? If not, one of the keenest enjoyments of life has been denied you. O, the thankfulness of such a privilege! And oh, the joy, melancholy though it be, of hearing blessings invoked upon you and yours by the mother of those children!
While this needful food was being eaten with a zest known only to the hungry, I was taking in the situation, and devising in my own mind means by which to render more enduring relief. The meal we had on hand would soon be exhausted, and, though more might be procured in the same way, it would be hazardous to depend upon that way only. “God helps those who help themselves,” is a good old reliable proverb that cannot be too deeply impressed upon the mind of every child. To leave this young mother in a state of absolute helplessness, and her innocent little ones dependent upon the precarious support which might be gleaned from a devastated country, would be cruel indeed; but how to obviate this state of affairs was a serious question.
The railroad having been torn up in every direction communicating with Decatur, there seemed to be but one alternative—to walk—and that was not practicable with several small children.
“Maggie, this state of affairs cannot be kept up; have you no friend to whom you can go?”
“Yes,” she replied. “Mr. Benedict has a sister near Madison, who has wanted me and the children to go and stay with her ever since he has been in the army, but I was too independent to do it.”
“Absurd! Well, the time has come that you must go. Get the children ready, and I will call for you soon,” and without any positive or defined plan of procedure, I took leave of Maggie and her children. I was working by faith, and the Lord directed my footsteps. On my way home I hunted up “Uncle Mack,” a faithful old negro man, who preferred freedom in the midst of privation with his own white people, to following the Federal army around on “Uncle Sam’s” pay-roll, and got from him a promise that he would construct a wagon out of odds and ends left upon the streets of Decatur. The next thing to be done was to provide a horse, and not being a magician, nor possessed of Aladdin’s lamp, this undertaking must have seemed chimerical to those who had not known how often and how singularly these scarcely formulated plans had developed into success. This day had been one of constant and active service, and was only one of the many that furnished from sixteen to eighteen working hours. No wonder, then, that exhausted nature succumbed to sleep that knew no waking until the dawn of another day.
Next morning, before the sun rose, accompanied by the Morton girls, I was on my way to “the cane-brakes.” I had seen many horses, whose places had been taken by others captured from farmers, abandoned and sent out to the cane-brake to recuperate or to die, the latter being the more probable. Withoutany definite knowledge of the locality, but guided by an over-ruling providence, I went direct to the cane-brake, and there soon made a selection of a horse, which, from the assortment at hand, could not have been improved upon. By a dextrous throw of a lasso, constructed and managed by the young friends already mentioned, he was soon captured and on his way to Decatur to enter “rebel” service. His most conspicious feature was a pair of as fine eyes as ever illuminated a horse’s head, large, brown and lustrous. There were other conspicuous things about him, too; for instance, branded upon each of his sides were the tell-tale letters, “U. S.,” and on his back was an immense sore which also told tales. By twelve o’clock, noon, Uncle Mack appeared upon the scene, pulling something which he had improvised which baffled description, and which, for the sake of the faithful service I obtained from it, I will not attempt to describe, though it might provoke the risibilities of the readers. Suffice it to say that as it carried living freight in safety over many a bridge, in honor of this I will call it a wagon. Uncle Mack soon had the horse secured to this vehicle by ropes and pieces of crocus sack, for harness was as scarce a commodity as wagons and horses. I surveyed the equipage from center to circumference, with emotions pathetic and amusing. It was awfully suggestive. And as I viewed it in all its grotesqueness my imagination pictured a collapse, and my return home from no very distant point upon my all-fours, with one of the fours dragging after me in a dilapidated condition. I distinctly heard the derisive gibberish and laughter of oldMomus, and thought I should explode in the effort to keep from joining in his mirthfulness. As I turned my head to take a sly glance at my mother, our eyes met, and all restraint was removed. With both of us laughter and sobs contended for the mastery, and merriment and tears literally blended. Thus equipped, and with a benediction from my mother, expressed more by looks and acts than by words, I gathered the ropes and started like Bayard Taylor to take “Views Afoot,” and at the same time accomplish an errand of mercy which would lead me, as I led the horse, over a portion of country that in dreariness and utter desolation baffles description—enough to know that Sherman’s foraging trains had been over it. Leading the horse, which was already christened “Yankee,” to Dr. Holmes’ door, I called Maggie to come on with her children.
“I can’t bring my things out, Miss Mary. Somebody must come to carry them and put them in the wagon.”
“I can,” I said, and suiting the action to the word, ran into the house where, to my amazement, three large trunks confronted me. What was to be done? If they could be got into the wagon, what guarantee was there that poor Yankee could haul them in that tumblesome vehicle? However, I went for Uncle Mack to put the trunks in the wagon, and in front of them, in close proximity to the horse’s heels, was placed a chair in which Maggie seated herself and took her baby in her lap, the other children nestling on rugs at her feet.
Poor Yankee seemed to feel the importance of hismission, and jogged along at a pretty fair speed, and I, who walked by his side and held the ropes, found myself more than once obliged to strike a trot in order to maintain control of him. Paradoxical as it may seem, I enjoyed this new phase in my service to the Confederacy—none but a patriot could render it, and the whole thing seemed invested with the glamour of romance, the sequel of which would be redemption from all connection with a people who could thus afflict another people of equal rights. While Maggie hummed a sweet little lullaby to her children, I contemplated the devastation and ruin on every side. Not a vestige of anything remained to mark the sites of the pretty homes which had dotted this fair country before the destroyer came, except, perhaps, a standing chimney now and then. And all this struck me as the willing sacrifice of a peerless people for a great principle, and looking through the dark vista I saw light ahead—I saw white-robed peace proclaiming that the end of carnage had come. Even then, as I jogged along at a snail’s pace (for be it known Yankee was not uniform in his gait, and as his mistress had relaxed the tension of the ropes, he had relaxed the speed of his steps) up a pretty little hill from whose summit I had often gazed with rapturous admiration upon the beautiful mountain of granite near by, I had so completely materialized the Queen of Peace that I saw her on the mountain’s crest, scattering with lavish hand blessings and treasures as a recompense for the destruction so wantonly inflicted. Thus my hopeful temperament furnished consolation to me, even under darkest circumstances.
Maggie and the children became restive in their pent-up limits, and the latter clamored for something to eat, but there was nothing to give them. Night was upon us, and we had come only about eight miles, and not an animate thing had we seen since we left Decatur, not even a bird, and the silence was unbroken save by the sound of the horse’s feet as he trod upon the rocks, and the soft, sweet humming of the young mother to her dear little ones. Step by step we seemed to descend into the caverns of darkness, and my brave heart began to falter. The children, awestruck, had ceased their appeal for bread, and nestled closer to their mother, and that they might all the more feel her protecting presence, she kept up a constant crooning sound, pathetic and sad. Step by step we penetrated the darkness of night—a night without a moon, starless and murky. The unerring instinct of an animal was all we had to guide us in the beaten road, which had ceased to be visible to human ken.
A faint glimmer of light, at apparently no very great distance, gave hope that our day’s journey was almost ended. Yankee also caught the inspiration and walked a little faster. Though the time seemed long, the cabin, for such it proved to be, was finally reached, and I dropped the ropes, and, guided by the glimmer of light through the cracks, went to the door and knocked, at the same time announcing my name. The door was quickly opened. Imagine my surprise when recognized and cordially welcomed by a sweet friend, whose most humble plantation cabin was a pretty residence in comparison with the one she now occupied. Maggie, too, as the daughter of awell-known physician, received cordial welcome for herself and children. And thus a kind Providence provided a safe lodging place for the night.
Nature again asserted itself, and the children asked for something to eat. The good lady of the house kissed them, and told them that supper would soon be ready. The larger one of her little sons drew from a bed of ashes, which had been covered by glowing coals, some large yam potatoes which he took to a table and peeled. He then went outside the cabin and drew from a keg an earthen-ware pitcher full of sparkling persimmon beer, which he dispensed to us in cups, and then handed around the potatoes. And how much this repast was enjoyed! Good sweet yams thoroughly cooked, and the zestful persimmon beer! And I thought of the lonely mother at a desolated home, whose only supper had been made of coarse meal, ground from corn which her own hands had helped to pick from crevices and cracks in improvised troughs, where Garrard’s cavalry had fed their horses. After awhile the sweet womanly spirit that presided over this little group, got a quilt and a shawl or two, and made a pallet for the children. The boys put more wood upon the fire, and some in the jambs of the fireplace, to be used during the night; and then they went behind us and lay down upon the floor, with seed cotton for pillows, and the roof for covering. Our kind hostess placed additional wraps over the shoulders of Maggie and myself, and we three sat up in our chairs and slept until the dawn.
Accustomed to looking after outdoor interests, I went to see how Yankee was coming on, and foundhim none the worse for the preceding day’s toil. Everything indicated that he had fared as sumptuously as we had—a partly-eaten pumpkin, corn, whole ears yet in the trough, and fodder near by, plainly showed the generosity of the noble little family that took us in and gave us the best they had. After breakfast we bade adieu to the good mother and her children, and went on our way, if not rejoicing, at least feeling better for having seen and been with such good people. There was a strong tie between us all. The husband and father was off in the army, like our loved ones. The generous feeding given to our steed had so braced him up that he began to walk faster, and was keenly appreciative of every kind word; and I and he formed a friendship for each other that continued to his dying day. The road was very rough and hilly, and more than once he showed signs of fatigue; but a word of encouragement seemed to renew his strength, and he walked bravely on. Maggie would perhaps have lightened his load by walking now and then, but the jolting of the wagon kept the trunks in perpetual motion, and the lives of the children would thereby have been jeopardized.
Nothing of special interest transpired this second day of our journey. The same fiend of destruction had laid his ruthless hand upon everything within his reach. The woods had been robbed of their beauty and the fields of their products; not even a bird was left to sing a requiem over the scene of desolation, or an animal to suggest where once had been a habitation. Once, crouching near a standing chimney, there was a solitary dog who kept at bay everyattempt to approach—no kind word would conciliate or put him off his guard. Poor, lonely sentinel! Did he remember that around the once cheerful hearthstone he had been admitted to a place with the family group? Was he awaiting his master’s return? Ah, who can know the emotions, or the dim reasonings of that faithful brute?
Night again came on and I discovered that we were approaching the hospitable mansion of Mr. Montgomery, an excellent, courtly country gentleman, who was at home under circumstances not now remembered. He and his interesting family gladly welcomed me and my little charge, and entertained us most hospitably. The raiders had been here and helped themselves bountifully, but they had spared the house for another time, and that other time came soon, and nothing was left on the site of this beautiful home but ubiquitous chimneys.
An early start the next day enabled Yankee to carry Maggie and her children and the trunks to Social Circle in time to take the noon train for Madison. So far as Maggie and her children were concerned, I now felt that I had done all that I could, and that I must hasten back to my lonely mother at Decatur; but Maggie’s tearful entreaties not to be left among strangers prevailed with me, and I got aboard the train with her, and never left her until I had placed her and her children in the care of good Mr. Thrasher at Madison, to be conveyed by him to the home of Mrs. Reeves, her husband’s sister.
In Madison, I too had dear friends and relatives, with whom I spent the night, and the morning’s trainbore me back to Social Circle, then the terminus of the Georgia Railroad—the war fiend having destroyed every rail between there and Atlanta. Arriving there, imagine my surprise and indignation when I learned that Mr. R——, whom I had paid in advance to care for Yankee while I was gone to Madison, had sent him out to his sorghum mill and put him to grinding cane; and it was with much difficulty and delay that I got him in time to start on my homeward journey that afternoon. Instead of his being rested, he was literally broken down, and my pity for him constrained me to walk every step of the way back to Decatur. While waiting for the horse, I purchased such articles of food as I could find. For instance, a sack of flour, for which I paid a hundred dollars, a bushel of potatoes, several gallons of sorghum, a few pounds of butter, and a few pounds of meat. Even this was a heavy load for the poor jaded horse. Starting so late I could only get to the hospitable home of Mr. Crew, distant only about three miles from “The Circle.”
Before leaving Mr. Crew’s the next morning, I learned that an immense Yankee raid had come out from Atlanta, and had burned the bridge which I had crossed only two days ago. This information caused me to take another route to Decatur, and my heart lost much of its hope, and my step its alacrity. Yet the Lord sustained me in the discharge of duty. I never wavered when there was a principle to be guarded or a duty to be performed. Those were praying days with me, and now I fervently invoked God’s aid and protection in my perilous undertaking, and I believed that He would grant aid and protection.
That I might give much needed encouragement to Yankee, I walked by his side with my hand upon his shoulder much of the time, an act of endearment which he greatly appreciated, and proved that he did so by the expression of his large brown eyes. One of my idiosyncrasies through life has been that of counting everything, and as I journeyed homeward, I found myself counting my steps from one to a thousand and one. As there is luck in odd numbers, says Rory O’Moore, I always ended with the traditional odd number, and by telling Yankee how much nearer home we were. And I told him many things, among them,sotto voce, that I did not believe he was a Yankee, but a captured rebel. If a tuft of grass appeared on the road side, he was permitted to crop it; or if a muscadine vine with its tempting grapes was discovered, he cropped the leaves off the low shrubbery, while I gathered the grapes for my mother at home with nothing to eat save the one article of diet, of which I have told before.
A minute description of this portion of the war-stricken country would fill a volume; but only the leading incidents and events of the journey are admissible in a reminiscence of war times. In the early part of the day, during this solitary drive, I came to a cottage by the wayside that was a perfect gem—an oasis, an everything that could thrill the heart by its loveliness. Flowers of every hue beautified the grounds and sweetened the air, and peace and plenty seemed to hold undisputed sway. The Fiend of Destruction had not yet reached this little Eden. Two gentlemen were in the yard conversing. Iperceived at a glance that they were of the clerical order, and would fain have spoken to them; but not wishing to disturb them, or attract attention to myself, I was passing by as unobtrusively as possible, when I was espied and recognized by one of them, who proved to be that saintly man, Rev. Walter Branham. He introduced me to his friend, Professor Shaw of Oxford. Their sympathy for me was plainly expressed, and they gave me much needed instruction regarding the route, and suggested that I would about get to Rev. Henry Clark’s to put up for the night. With a hearty shake of the hand, and “God bless you, noble woman,” I pursued my lonely way and they went theirs. No other adventure enlivened the day, and poor patient Yankee did the best he could, and so did I. It was obvious that he had done about all he could. Grinding sorghum under a hard taskmaster, with an empty stomach, had told on him, and he could no longer quicken his pace at the sound of a friendly voice.
At length we came in sight of “Uncle Henry Clark’s” place. I stood amazed, bewildered. I felt as if I would sink to the ground, yea, through it. I was riveted to the spot on which I stood. I could not move. At length I cried—cried like a woman in despair. Poor Yankee must have cried too (for water ran out of his eyes), and in some measure I was quieted, for misery loves company, and I began to take in the situation more calmly. Elegant rosewood and mahogany furniture, broken into a thousand fragments, covered the face of the ground as far as I could see; and china and glass looked as if it had been sown. And the house, what of that? Alas! it too had beenscattered to the four winds of heaven in the form of smoke and ashes. Not even a chimney stood to mark its site. Near by stood a row of negro cabins, intact, showing that while the conflagration was going on they had been sedulously guarded. And these cabins were occupied by the slaves of the plantation. Men, women and children stalked about in restless uncertainty, and in surly indifference. They had been led to believe that the country would be apportioned to them, but they had sense enough to know that such a mighty revolution involved trouble and delay, and they were supinely waiting developments. Neither man, woman nor child approached me. There was mutual distrust and mutual avoidance.
It took less time to take in the situation than it has to describe it. The sun was almost down, and as he turned his large red face upon me, I fancied he fain would have stopped in his course to see me out of this dilemma. What was I to do? The next nearest place that I could remember that would perhaps give protection for the night was Mr. Fowler’s, and this was my only hope. With one hand upon Yankee’s shoulder, and the ropes in the other, I moved on, and not until my expiring breath will I forget the pleading look which that poor dumb animal turned upon me when I started. Utterly hopeless, and in my hands, he wondered how I could thus exact more of him. I wondered myself. But what was I to do but to move on? And with continuous supplication for the Lord to have mercy upon me, I moved on. More than once the poor horse turned that look, beseeching and pathetic, upon me. It frightened me, I did notunderstand it, and still moved on. At last the hope of making himself understood forsook him, and he deliberately laid himself down in the road. I knelt by his side and told him the true state of affairs, and implored him not to desert me in this terrible crisis. I told him how cruel it would be to do so, and used many arguments of like character; but they availed nothing. He did not move, and his large, lustrous brown eyes seemed to say for him: “I have done all I can, and can do no more.” And the sun could bear it no longer, and hid his crimson face behind a great black cloud.
What could I do but rise from my imploring attitude and face my perilous situation? “Lord have mercy upon me,” was my oft-repeated invocation. The first thing which greeted my vision when I rose to my feet was a very distant but evidently an advancing object. I watched it with bated breath, and soon had the satisfaction of seeing a man on muleback. I ran to meet him, saying: “O, sir, I know the good Lord has sent you here.” And then I recounted my trouble, and received most cordial sympathy from one who had been a Confederate soldier, but who was now at home in consequence of wounds that incapacitated him for further service. When he heard all, he said:
“I would take you home with me, but I have to cross a swimming creek before getting there, and I am afraid to undertake to carry you. Wait here until I see these negroes. They are a good set, and whatever they promise, they will, I think, carry out faithfully.”
The time seemed interminable before he cameback, and night, black night, had set in; and yet a quiet resignation sustained me.
When my benefactor returned, two negro men came with him, one of whom brought a lantern, bright and cheery. “I have arranged for you to be cared for here,” said he. “Several of the old house servants of Mrs. Clark know you, and they will prove themselves worthy of the trust we repose in them.” I accepted the arrangement made by this good man, and entrusted myself to the care of the negroes for the night. This I did with great trepidation, but as soon as I entered the cabin an assurance of safety filled my mind with peace, and reconciled me to my surrounding’s. The “mammy” that presided over it met me with a cordial welcome, and assured me that no trouble would befall me under her roof. An easy chair was placed for me in one corner in comfortable proximity to a large plantation fire. In a few minutes the men came in bringing my flour, potatoes, syrup, bacon, etc. This sight gave me real satisfaction, as I thought of my poor patient mother at home, and hoped that in some way I should yet be able to convey to her this much needed freight. I soon espied a table on which was piled many books and magazines; “Uncle Henry Clark’s” theological books were well represented. I proposed reading to the women, if they would like to hear me, and soon had their undivided attention, as well as that of several of the men, who sat on the doorsteps. In this way several hours passed, and then “mammy” said, “You must be getting sleepy.” “Oh, no,” I replied, “I frequently sit up all night reading.” But this did not satisfy her; she haddevised in her own mind something more hospitable for her guest, and she wanted to see it carried out. Calling into requisition the assistance of the men, she had two large cedar chests placed side by side, and out of these chests were taken nice clean quilts, and snow-white counterpanes, and sheets, and pillows—Mrs. Clark’s beautiful bed-clothing—and upon those chests was made a pallet upon a which a queen might have reposed with comfort. It was so tempting in its cleanliness that I consented to lie down. The sole occupants of that room that night were myself and my hostess—the aforesaid black “mammy.” Rest, not sleep, came to my relief. The tramping of feet, and now and then the muffled sound of human voices, kept me in a listening attitude, and it must be confessed in a state of painful apprehension. Thus the night passed.
With the dawn of day I was up and ready to meet the day’s requirements. “Mammy’s” first greeting was, “What’s your hurry?” “I am accustomed to early rising. May I open the door?” The first thing I saw was Yankee, and he was standing eating; but he was evidently too weak to attempt the task of getting that cumbersome vehicle and its freight to Decatur. So I arranged with one of the men to put a steer to the wagon and carry them home. This he was to do for the sum of one hundred dollars. After an appetizing breakfast, I started homeward, leading Yankee in the rear of this turnout. Be it remembered, I did not leave without making ample compensation for my night’s entertainment.
No event of particular interest occurred on the wayto Decatur. Yankee walked surprisingly well, and the little steer acquitted himself nobly. In due time Decatur appeared in sight, and then there ensued a scene which for pathos defies description. Matron and maiden, mother and child, each with a tin can, picked up off the enemy’s camping-ground, ran after me and begged for just a little something to eat—just enough to keep them from starving. Not an applicant was refused, and by the time the poor, rickety, cumbersome wagon reached its destination, its contents had been greatly diminished. But there was yet enough left to last for some time the patient, loving mother, the faithful Telitha, and myself.
A summary of the trip developed these facts: To the faithfulness of Uncle Mack was due the holding together of the most grotesque vehicle ever dignified by the name of wagon; over all that road it remained intact, and returned as good as when it started. And but for the sorghum grinding, poor Yankee would have acted his part unfalteringly. As for myself, I labored under the hallucination that I was a Confederate soldier, and deemed no task too great for me to essay, if it but served either directly or indirectly those who were fighting my battles.
A SECOND TRIP FOR SUPPLIES.
Gathering “fodder” from a cane-brake as a preliminary—The lonely journey—Changing Yankee’s name—I meet the Federal raiders.
At an early hour in the morning of a bright autumnal day, that memorable year 1864—the saddest of them all—Yankee was roped (not bridled, mark you), and crocus sacks, four for him, one for Telitha, and one for myself, thrown over his back, and we three, boon companions in diversified industries, scampered off to a neighboring cane-brake—a favorite resort in those days, but now, alas for human gratitude! never visited for the sake of “auld lang syne.”
Perfect health—thanks to the parents who transmitted no constitutional taint to my veins—unusual strength, and elasticity of motion, soon carried me there, and having secured Yankee to a clump of canes luxuriant with tender twig’s and leaves, sweetened by the cool dew of the season, Telitha and I entered upon the work of cutting twigs and pulling fodder.
There being no drainage in those times, I often stepped upon little hillocks, covered with grass or aquatic vegetation, that yielded to my weight, and I sunk into the mud and water ankle deep, at least, and Telitha was going through with similar experiences. I often laughed at her grimaces and other expressions of disgust in the slough of despond, and rejoiced with her when she displayed the trophies of success, consistingof nice brittle twig’s, generously clad in tender leaves and full growth; Yankee, too, was unmindful of small difficulties, and did his “level” best in providing for a rainy day by filling his capacious paunch brimful of the good thing’s so bountifully supplied by Providence in the marshes of old DeKalb. By the time the aforesaid half dozen sacks were filled, the enlargement of that organ of his anatomy suggested that he proposed carrying home about as much inside of him as might be imposed upon his back—of this sagacity he seemed conscious and very proud, and when the sacks of cane were put over his back, pannier fashion, he pursued the path homeward with prouder air and nobler mien than that which marked his course to the cane-brake.
When we three were fully equipped for starting back to the deserted village, Yankee, as already described, and I with a sack of cane thrown over my right shoulder, and reaching nearly to my heels, and Telitha, in apparel and equipment an exact duplicate of myself, I was so overcome by the ludicrous features of the scene that for the time I lost sight of the pathetic and yielded to inordinate laughter. As memory, electrical and veracious, recapitulated the facts and circumstances leading to this state of affairs, I realized that there was but one alternative—to laugh or to cry—but the revolutionary blood coursing through my veins decided in favor of the former, and I laughed until I could no longer stand erect, even though braced by an inflexible bag of cane, and I ignominiously toppled over. As I lay upon the ground I laughed, not merrily, but grimly, as I fancya hyena would laugh. The more I sought the sympathy of Telitha in this hilarious ebullition, the more uncontrollable it became. Her utter want of appreciation of the fun, and a vague idea that she was in some way implicated, embarrassed her, and, judging from her facial expression, ever varying and often pathetic, wounded her also. In vain did I point to our docile equine, whose tethering line she held. His enlarged proportions and grotesque accoutrements failed to touch a single risible chord, or convey to her utilitarian mind aught that was amusing, and she doubtless wondered what could have so affected me.
In due time we reached Decatur. After passing the Hoyle place, the residence being then deserted, Telitha indicated by signs too intelligible to be misunderstood that she would go home with her sack of stock provender, leading the horse, and then come back for mine, and I could go by a different route and not be known as a participant in the raid upon the cane-brake; but I was too proud of my fidelity to the Southern Confederacy to conceal any evidences of it that the necessities of the times called into action, and I walked through the stricken village with my sack of cane in my arms instead of upon my back; and would have walked as proudly to the sacrificial altar, myself the offering, if by so doing I could have retrieved the fortunes of my people and established for them a government among the nations of earth.
The lowing of our cow reached me as I entered the court-house square, and I hastened my gait and soon displayed before her, in her stall in the cellar, a tempting repast. And my mother, who possessed thefaculty of making something good out of that which was ordinary, displayed one equally tempting to me and Telitha—milk and mush, supplemented by coffee made of parched okra seed.
“Tired nature’s sweet restorer” faithfully performed its recuperative service that night. When I opened my eyes upon the glorious light of another day, I was so free from the usual attendants upon fatigue that I involuntarily felt for my body—it seemed to have passed away during the night, and left no trace of former existence. I found it, though, perfectly intact, and ready to obey the behests of my will and serve me through the requirements of another day. And my mother seemed to be in her usual health and willing for me to do anything I thought I ought to do. She could not close her eyes to the fact that our store of supplies was nearly exhausted, and that there was only one way to replenish it; and she had the wisdom and the Christian grace to acquiesce to the inevitable without a discouraging word. Telitha, upon whose benighted mind the ridiculous phases of the previous day’s adventures had dawned sometime in the interim, laughed as soon as she saw me, and in well-acted pantomime made me fully aware that she enjoyed at this late hour the ludicrous scene that had so amused me. And Yankee evidently smiled when he saw me, and greeted me with a joyous little whicker that spoke volumes.
A good breakfast for women and beast having been disposed of, I wended my way in quest of Uncle Mack. He alone understood the complicatedprocess of harnessing Yankee in ropes to the primitive vehicle manufactured by his own ingenious hands, and to him I always went when this important task had to be performed. On this occasion, as upon others, it was soon executed. When all was ready and the unbidden tears dashed away, as if out of place, I seized the ropes and started? Where? Ah, that was the question. There was only one place that offered hope of remuneration for the perilous undertaking, and forty miles had to be traversed before reaching it. Forty miles through a devastated country. Forty miles amid untold dangers. But in all the walks of life it has been demonstrated that pluck and energy, and a firm reliance upon Providence, are necessary to surmount difficulties, and of all these essentials I had a goodly share, and never doubted but that I would be taken care of, and my wants and those of others supplied. “God helps those who help themselves,” is an adage which deserves to be emblazoned upon every tree, and imprinted upon every heart. That vain presumption that folds the hands, and prays for benefits and objects desired, without putting forth any effort to obtain them, ought to be rebuked by all good men and women as a machination of Satan.
These and similar reflections nerved me for the task before me, and I started in earnest. When I got to the “blacksmith shop,” I looked back and saw my mother standing just where I left her, following me with her eyes. I looked back no more, lest I dissolve in tears. As I passed the few abodes that were tenanted, my mission “out” was apprehended, and Iwas besought in tearful tones to bring back with me all I could, by those who told me that they and their children were upon the verge of starvation. I took all the sacks which were handed to me and rolled them together, and by the aid of a string secured them to the cart, and amidst blessings and good wishes pursued my devious way; for, be it remembered, many obstructions, such as breast-works and thorny hedge-wood, presented formidable barriers to rapid travel for a considerable distance from Decatur.
While leisurely walking beside Yankee, I was struck with the agility of his motion and his improved figure since we traveled over these grounds a few weeks before. He had taken on a degree of symmetry that I never supposed attainable by the poor, emaciated animal which I captured in the cane-brake. His hair had become soft and silky, and in the sunlight displayed artistic shades of coloring from light to deepest brown; and his long, black tail, which hung limp and perpendicular, now affected a curve which even Hogarth might have admired, and his luxuriant and glossy mane waved prettily as a maiden’s tresses. And his face, perfect in every lineament, and devoid of any indication of acerbity, lighted by large, liquid, brown eyes, would have been a fit model—a thing of beauty—for the pencil of Rosa Bonheur. Rubbing my hand over his silky coat and enlarged muscles, I decided to enjoy the benefit of his increased strength and gently ordered a halt. Stepping from the ground to the hub of the wheel, another step landed me into the cart, vehicle, wagon or landau, which ever you seeproper to denominate it; I do not propose to confine myself to any one of these terms.
Yankee understood the movement, and doubtless felt complimented. As soon as I took my seat in the chair—a concomitant part of the equipage—he started off at a brisk gait, which, without a word of command, he kept up until we came to the base of a long hill, and then he slackened his speed and leisurely walked to the summit. I enjoyed going over ground without muscular effort of my own, and determined to remain in the cart until he showed some sign of fatigue. I had only to hold the ropes and speak an encouraging word, and we traveled on right merrily. Ah, no! That was a misnomer. Callous indeed would have been the heart who could have gone merrily over that devastated and impoverished land. Sherman, with his destructive host, had been there, and nothing remained within the conquered boundary upon which “Sheridan’s Crow” could have subsisted. Nothing was left but standing chimneys, and an occasional house, to which one would have supposed a battering ram had been applied. I looked up and down, and in every direction, and saw nothing but destruction, and the gaunt and malignant figure of General Starvation striding over our beautiful country, as if he possessed it. I shook my head defiantly at him and went on, musing upon these things. I never questioned the wisdom or goodness of God in permitting them, but I pondered upon them, and have never yet reached their unfathomable depths.
At the end of the first day’s journey, I found myself twenty miles, or more, from the starting point,and tenderly cared for by a good family, consisting, in these war times, only of a mother and several precious little children, who were too glad to have company to consider my appeal for a night’s entertainment intrusive. This desolate mother and children thought they had seen all the horror of warfare illustrated by the premeditated cruelty of the Yankee raiders, and could not conceive how it could have been worse. But when I got through with my recital of injuries, they were willing that theirs should remain untold. A delicious supper, like manna from Heaven, was enjoyed with a zest unknown to those who have never been hungry.
The light of another day found us all up in that hospitable household, and an appetizing breakfast fortified me for another day’s labor in any field in which I might be called to perform it. The little boys, who had taken Yankee out of the rope harness the evening before, remembered its intricacies and had no difficulty in getting him back into that complicated gear. When all was ready, and grateful good-byes had been uttered, I again mounted “the hub,” and got into the vehicle. After I had taken my seat, the good lady handed me a package, which proved to be a nice lunch for my dinner. She also had a sack of potatoes and pumpkins stored away in the landau; and being a merciful woman, she thought of the horse, and gave some home-cured hay for his noonday meal.
All day I followed in the track of Sherman’s minions, and found the destruction greater than when I had passed in this direction before. Coming to a hill,the long ascent of which would be fatiguing to Yankee, I ordered a halt and got out of the wagon. Taking position by his side, we climbed the hill together, and then we went down it together, and continued to journey side by side, I oblivious to everything but the destruction, either complete or partial, on every side. At length we came to a lovely wee bit stream of water, exulting in its consciousness that no enemy could arrest it in its course to the sea, or mar its beauty as it rippled onward. We halted, and I loosened the ropes so that Yankee might partake of the flowing water before eating his noonday meal. And I am sure epicure never enjoyed luncheon at Delmonico’s with more zest than I did the frugal meal prepared for me by the friendly hands of that dear Confederate woman. Much as I enjoyed it, I finished my dinner sometime before Yankee did his, and employed the interim in laving my hands and face in the pure water, and contemplating myself in the perfect mirror formed by its surface. Not as Narcissus did I enjoy this pastime, but as one startled by the revelation. Traces of care; sorrow, apprehension for the future, were indelibly imprinted upon forehead and cheek, and most of all upon that most tell-tale of all features, the mouth. I wept at the change, and by way of diversion turned from the unsatisfactory contemplation of myself to that of Yankee. This horse, instinct with intelligence, appreciated every act of kindness, and often expressed his gratitude in ways so human-like as to startle and almost affright me. I am sure I have seen his face lighted by a smile, and radiant with gratitude. And no human being everexpressed more forcibly by word or act his sorrow at being unable to do all that was desired of him in emergency, than did this dumb brute when he gave me that long, earnest, pathetic look (mentioned in a former sketch) when, from sheer exhaustion, he lay down near the heap of ashes where once stood the beautiful residence of my friend of honored memory, Rev. Henry Clark.
The more I contrasted the treatment which I, in common with my country women and my country, had received at the hands of the Yankees (the then exponents of the sentiment of the United States towards the Southern people), and the gentle, friendly demeanor of the animal upon whom I had unthoughtedly bestowed a name constantly suggestive of an enemy, the more dissatisfied I became with it, and I determined then and there to change it. Suiting the action to the decision, I gathered the ropes and led the noble steed to the brink of that beautiful little brooklet, and paused for a name. What should it be? “Democrat?” I believed him to be a democrat, true and tried, and yet I did not much like the name. Had not the Northern democrats allowed themselves to be allured into abolition ranks, and made to do the fighting, while the abolitionists, under another name, devastated the country and enriched themselves by the booty. “Copperhead?” I did not like that much. It had a metallic ring that grated harshly upon my nerves, and I was not then aware of their great service to the South in restraining and keeping subordinate to humanity, as far as in them lay, the hatred and evil passions of the abolitionists. “Johnny Reb?” Ah,I had touched the keynote at last, and it awakened a responsive chord that vibrated throughout my very being. I had a secret belief, more than once expressed in words, that my noble equine was a captured rebel “held in durance vile” until bereft of health and strength, then abandoned to die upon the commons. “Johnny Reb!” I no longer hesitated. The name was electrical, and the chord with which it came in contact was charged to its utmost capacity. With the placid waters of that ever-flowing stream, in the name of the Southern Confederacy, I christened one of the best friends I ever had “Johnny Reb,” a name ever dear to me.
This ceremony having been performed to my satisfaction and to his, too—judging by the complacent glances, and, as I fancied, by the suggestion of an approving smile which he bestowed upon me—I mounted the hub, stepped into the cart, seated myself, and with ropes in hand continued my way to “The Circle,” and arrived there before night, Not being tired, I immediately struck out among the vendors of home-made products—edibles, wearing apparel, etc.—for the purpose of purchasing a wagon load to carry to Decatur, not for the ignoble purpose of speculation, but to bestow, without money and without price, upon those who, like my mother and myself, preferred hunger and privation rather than give up our last earthly home to the destroying fiend that stalked over our land and protected Federal bayonets.
Before the shades of night came on I had accomplished my object. As a matter of history I willenumerate some of the articles purchased, and annex the prices paid for them in Confederate money:
Not knowing the capabilities of “Johnny Reb,” I feared to add one hundred and thirty-six pounds avoirdupois weight to a cart already loaded to repletion, and the next morning on starting took my old familiar place by his side. To my slightest touch or word of encouragement, he gave me an appreciative look and obeyed to the letter my wishes with regard to his gaits—slow or fast in adaptation to mine. In due time we again rested on the banks of the beautiful little stream hallowed by the memory of repudiating a name, rendered by the vandalism of its legitimate owners too obnoxious to be borne by a noble horse, and by the bestowing upon him of another more in keeping with his respect for ladies and other fine traits of character which he possessed. Neither he nor I had lunch with which to regale ourselves; and whilst he moved about at will cropping little tufts of wild growth and tender leaves, which instinct taught him were good for his species, I abandoned myself to my favorite pursuit—the contemplationof nature. Like Aurora Leigh, I “found books among the hills and vales, and running brooks,” and held communion with their varied forms and invisible influences. To me they ever spoke of the incomprehensible wisdom and goodness of God. My heart, from my earliest recollection, always went out in adoration to Him who could make alike the grand old Titans of the forest and the humblest blade of grass; and now I beheld them under circumstances peculiarly calculated to evoke admiration. Change had come to everything else. The lofty trees stood in silent grandeur, undisturbed by the enemy’s step or the harsh clarion of war—as if defiant of danger—and gave shelter and repose to the humblest of God’s creatures who sought their protecting arms. Beguiled by the loveliness of the woodland scenery, I often found myself stopping to daguerreotype it upon the tablets of my memory, and to feast my senses upon the aromatic perfume of wildwood autumn flowers. “Strong words of counseling” I found in them and in “the vocal pines and waters,” and out of these books I learned the “ignorance of men.”
“And how God laughs in Heaven when any manSays, ‘Here I’m learned; this I understand;In that I am never caught at fault, or in doubt.’”
A word of friendly greeting and renewed thanks to mine hostess of two nights before, and her dear little children, detained me only a very short and unbegrudged space of time; and during that time I did not forget to refer to the potatoes and the pumpkin so kindly given to me by them on my down trip, andwhich I could have left in their care until my return, had I thought of it.
Night again came on, and this time found me picking my way as best I could over the rocks shadowed by Stone Mountain. On I plodded through the darkness, guided rather by the unerring step of Johnny Reb than any knowledge I had of the way. At length the poor faithful animal and myself were rewarded for perseverance by seeing glimmering lights of the mountain village. We struck a bee line for the nearest one, and were soon directed to “a boarding house.” I was too glad to get into it then, to descant upon its demerits now. I assured the landlady that I needed no supper myself, and would pay her what she would charge for both if she would see that the horse was well fed. I think she did so. My valuable freight could not remain in the cart all night, and there was no one to bring it in. In vain did she assure me that I would find it all right if I left it there. I got into the cart and lifted the sacks and other things out of it myself, and, by the help of the aforesaid person, got everything into the house. I fain would have lain down by these treasures, for they had increased in value beyond computation since leaving Social Circle, and would have done so but for repeated assurance of their safety.
An early start next morning gave me the privilege of going over the ground familiar to my youth in the loveliest part of the day, and when the sun looked at me over the mountain’s crest, I felt as if I was in the presence of a veritable king, and wanted to take my bonnet off and make obeisance to him. His beneficentrays fell alike upon the just and the unjust, and lighted the pathway of the destroyer as brightly as that of the benefactor. Amid destruction, wanton and complete, and over which angels might weep, I stepped the distance off between Stone Mountain and Judge Bryce’s; not a living thing upon the face of the earth, or a sound of any kind greeting me—the desolation of war reigned supreme. I again stopped at Judge Bryce’s, and implored his protection to Decatur, but, as on the former occasion, he was afraid to leave his wife to the tender mercy (?) of the enemy. He told me he feared I would not reach home with my cart of edibles, as “Yankee raiders had been coming out from Atlanta every day lately,” and that the set that was now coming was more vindictive than any that had preceded it. Good, dear Mrs. Bryce, trusting in the Lord for future supplies, took a little from her scanty store of provisions and added it to mine for her friend, my mother.
With many forebodings of evil, I took up the line of march to Decatur. I looked almost with regret upon my pretty horse. Had he remained the poor ugly animal that was lassoed in the cane-brake, I would have had but little fear of losing him, but under my fostering care, having become pretty, plump and sprightly, I had but little hope of keeping him. Being absorbed by these mournful reflections and not having the ever-watchful Telitha with me to announce danger from afar, I was brought to a full realization of its proximity by what appeared to be almost an army ofblue-coats, dashing up on spirited horses, and for the purpose of humiliating me, hurrahing “for JeffersonDavis and the Southern Confederacy.” As a flag of truce, I frantically waved my bonnet, which act was misapprehended and taken as a signal of approval of their “hurrah for Jefferson Davis and the Southern Confederacy,” which was resounding without intermission.
Seeing several very quiet, dignified looking gentlemen, who, although apart from the others, seemed to be exercising a restraining influence, I approached them and told them how I had gone out from Decatur unprotected and all alone to get provisions to keep starvation from among our defenseless women and children, and that I had to go all the way to Social Circle before I could get anything, and that I had walked back in order to save the horse as much as possible. These men, however, although seemingly interested, questioned and cross-questioned me until I had but little hope of their protection. One of them said, “I see you have one of our horses. How did you come by him?” And then the story of how I came by him was recapitulated without exaggeration or diminution. This narrative elicited renewed hurrahs for Jefferson Davis and the Southern Confederacy. A few minutes private conversation between these gentlemen ensued, and all of them approached me, and the spokesman said, “Two of us will escort you to Decatur, and see that no harm befalls you.” It seemed, then, that no greater boon could have been offered under the canopy of Heaven, and I am sure no woman could have experienced more gratitude or been more profuse in its expression.
The sight of my nervous, gray-haired mother, and her pretty mother ways, touched another tender chord in the hearts of these gentlemen, and if constraint existed it was dispelled, and they became genial and very like friends before they left. They even promised to send us some oats for noble Johnny Reb, who displayed the greatest equanimity all through these trying scenes.
NEWS FROM THE ABSENT BROTHER.
He marches into Tennessee with Hood—Extracts from his letters written on the way—Two ears of parched corn—The night burial of a soldier.
After the majority of these sketches were written, I was permitted by my sister to take a few extracts from the cherished letters of our brother, which she numbered and carefully laid away as her most precious treasure. To these we are indebted for all that we know of his history during those trying days and weeks of which I have just been writing. Where was he, and how did he fare? Few and far between were the letters now, in these dark days of the war. The soldiers themselves had but little opportunity to write, and the mail facilities were poor. But I feel sure that to the survivors of the “Lost Cause,” these meagre scraps concerning that brave but disastrous march into Tennessee will be read with melancholy interest:
“On the Line of Alabama and Georgia,Near Alpine, Ga., 8 o’clock at night, Oct. 17, 1874.
“My Dear Sister—As there is a probability of the mail courier leaving here early in the morning, I hastily scratch you a few lines that you may know that under the blessings of a kind Providence I am yet alive, and, though somewhat wearied, enjoying good health. Yours of 28th of September has been received, but under circumstances of hard marches, etc.,there has been but one opportunity of writing to you since leaving Palmetto, and then had just finished one to Texas, and was fixing to write to you, when the order came to ‘fall in.’
“Well, leaving camps near Palmetto on the 29th of September, we crossed the Chattahoochee below, marched up to Powder Springs, threatened Marietta, and at the same time threw Stewart’s corps around above Big Shanty to cut the railroad, which was torn up for about thirteen miles, French’s Division attacking Allatoona, where he sustained some loss, having works to charge. Ector’s Texas Brigade, and some Missourians, carried their part of the works, but A——’s Brigade failed to do their part, hence the advantage gained was lost. By this time the enemy were concentrating at Marietta, and General Hood’s object being accomplished, he then marched rapidly towards Rome, flanking the place, and making a heavy demonstration as if he intended crossing the river and attacking the place. The enemy then commenced a concentration at Kingston and Rome. We then moved around Rome and marched rapidly up the Oostanaula, and, on the evening of the 11th inst., sent a division of infantry with some cavalry across the river, and captured Calhoun with some stores. Moved on the next morning by a forced march, flanking Resaca, and striking the railroad immediately above, tearing it up to Tilton where there were about three hundred Yankees in a block-house. A surrender was demanded. A reply was returned: ‘If you want us come and take us.’ Our artillery was soon in position and a few shots soon made them show the ‘white rag.’ We toreup the road that night, and the next morning by nine o’clock, to Tunnel Hill, burning every cross-tie and twisting the bars. Dalton surrendered without a fight, with a full garrison of negroes and some white Yankees. The block-house above, at a bridge, refused to surrender, and we had to bring the artillery into requisition again, which made them succumb. They all seemed to be taken by surprise and were hard to convince that it was a cavalry raid. They evacuated Tunnel Hill. Thus after five months of fighting and running, the Army of Tennessee re-occupied Dalton. Sherman has been taken by surprise. He never dreamed of such a move. General Hood’s plans all being carried out, so far as the State road was concerned, we marched across the mountains to LaFayette, in the vicinity of which we camped last night, and have marched twenty-three miles to-day. To-morrow we cross the Lookout Mountain, and will, I suppose, make directly for the Tennessee river, though of this I’m not certain. Hood has shown himself a general in strategy, and has secured the confidence of the troops. Wherever we go, may God’s blessing attend us. Pray for me. In haste.
Your affectionate brother,Tom Stokes.
“P. S.—Cherokee Co., Ala., Oct. 18, 1864.
“The courier not leaving this morning, I have a little more time left. We did not travel so far to-day as I heard we would, having come only ten miles, and have stopped to rest the balance of the evening. I find you dislike to have your communications cut off, so I see you are below Madison. Would to Heaventhat, in one sense of the word my communication was cut off forever; yea, that every channel leading me in contact withthe world, in any other character than as a minister of ‘the meek and lowly Savior,’ was to me forever blocked up. I am tired of confusion and disorder—tired of living a life of continual excitement * * *. You spoke of passing through a dark cloud. ‘There is nothing true but Heaven,’ and it is to that rest for the weary, alone, to which we are to look for perfect enjoyment. We are to walk by faith, and though the clouds of trouble thicken, yet we should know that if we do our duty we shall see and feel the genial sunshine of a happier time. Yes, my sister, though we knew our lives should be lengthened one hundred years, and every day should be full of trouble; yet if we have a hope of Heaven, that hope should buoy up the soul to be cheerful, even under earth’s saddest calamities.
“I think we will cross the Tennessee river and make for Tennessee, where it seems to be understood that we will have large accessions to our army, both there and from Kentucky * * *.”
The next letter is enclosed in an envelope which came through no postoffice, as it was furnished by my sister, and upon it she wrote: “This letter was sent to me on the 27th of November, by some one who picked it up upon the street in Madison. The postoffice had been rifled by the Federals who (under command of Slocum) passed through Madison, November 18th and 19th. Though found without anenvelope, and much stained, it has reached me, because signed with his full name.”
This letter is dated “Near Decatur, Ala., October 28th, 1864.” We give a few items:
“We invested this place yesterday, and there has been some skirmishing and artillery firing until an hour ago, when it seems to have measurably ceased. We are in line of battle southwest of Decatur, about one and a quarter miles. I went out reconnoitering this morning and saw the enemy’s position. They have a large fort immediately in the town, with the ‘stars and stripes’ waving above. I hear occasional distant artillery firing which I suppose is Forrest, near Huntsville. * * * We were several days crossing Sand Mountain. Have had delightful weather until a day or two ago it rained, making the roads very muddy, in consequence of which we have been on small rations, the supply trains failing to get up. We had only half rations yesterday, and have had none to-day (now nearly three o’clock), but will get some to-night. We try to be cheerful. * * * No letter from Texas yet. No one of our company has had any intelligence from Johnson county since last May. I can’t see what’s the matter. I have been absent nearly one year and have received but one letter.” (Of course the dear loved ones in Texas wrote to their soldier braves on this side the Mississippi river; but such are the misfortunes of war that these missives were long delayed in their passage).
“Saturday, October 29th.—The condition of affairs this morning at sunrise remains, so far as I know, unchanged. * * * Yesterday evening we drew twoears of corn for a day’s ration; so parched corn was all we had yesterday; but we will get plenty to-day.”
And now we come to the last of the letters ever received. It is probable it was among the last he ever wrote. It is dated “Tuscumbia, Ala., Nov. 10, 1864.—... We arrived at this place the 31st of October, and have been here since, though what we are waiting for I can’t tell. The pontoons are across the river, and one corps on the other side at Florence. We have had orders to be ready to move several times, but were countermanded. We were to have moved to-day, and even our wagons started off, but for some cause or other we have not gone. The river is rising very rapidly, which may endanger the pontoons.
“November 12th.—I thought to send this off yesterday morning, but, on account of the rain a few days ago, the mail carrier was delayed until last night, which brought your dear letter of date October 31st. It was handed me on my return from the graveyard, where I had been to perform the funeral ceremony of a member of the 6th Texas, who was killed yesterday morning by the fall of a tree. He had been in every battle in which this brigade was ever engaged; an interesting young man, only nineteen years of age.
“The scene at the graveyard was a solemn one, being some time in the night before we arrived. The cold, pale moon shone down upon us, and the deep stillness which pervaded the whole scene, with therough, uncouth, though tender-hearted soldiers with uncovered heads, forming a large circle around the grave, made it, indeed, a scene solemnly impressive. The print of my Bible being small, I could not read, but recited from memory a few passages of Scripture suitable to the occasion, the one upon which I dwelt chiefly being a declaration of Paul to the Corinthians, ‘For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ.’ I then spoke of the certainty of that change from life to death; that with the soldier, even, death is not confined to the battlefield; spoke of our comrade, who but in the morning bade as fair for long life as any of us, but within the space of a few short hours was lying in the cold embrace of death; of another of our brigade who was instantly killed a short time since by a stroke of lightning; closed with an exhortation to all to live nearer to God, and be prepared at all times to meet their God in peace. Oh, how sad! Far away from his home to be buried in a land of strangers. How the hearts of his father, mother and sisters must bleed when they receive the sad tidings.