Forget-me-nots of the Civil War;
A
Romance, Containing Reminiscences and Original Letters
of Two
Confederate Soldiers
:
Electronic Edition.
Lee, Laura Elizabeth
(Battle, Laura
Elizabeth Lee)
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- LC Subject Headings:
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- Battle, Laura Elizabeth Lee.
-
- Women -- North Carolina -- Biography.
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- North Carolina -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Personal narratives.
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- North Carolina -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Women.
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- Confederate States of America. Army. North Carolina Infantry Regiment, 4th. Company F.
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- United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Military life.
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- United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Personal narratives, Confederate.
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FORGET - ME - NOTS OF
THE CIVIL WAR
A ROMANCE,
CONTAINING REMINISCENCES AND ORIGINAL LETTERS
OF TWO CONFEDERATE SOLDIERS.
BY
LAURA ELIZABETH LEE
ILLUSTRATED BY
BRYAN BURNES
All rights reserved
ST. LOUIS, MO.
PRESS A. R. FLEMING PRINTING CO
COPYRIGHT 1909
By
MRS. JESSE MERCER BATTLE
TO JESSE, THE HUSBAND,
WHO IS STILL MY BOY LOVER,
TO HELEN, THE DUTIFUL DAUGHTER,
WHO HAS BEEN THE LINK TO WELD MORE
CLOSELY OUR LOVE,
AND WHOSE LIVES I HAVE WANTED
TO FILL WITH SUNSHINE,
BUT WHERE THE SHADOWS HAVE OFTEN CREPT,
THIS VOLUME IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED.
MAY ITS PAGES BE ILLUMINATED BY THEIR
LOVE AND INSPIRATION.
LAURA ELIZABETH LEE.
Page 5
CONTENTS
- CHAPTER
- I. My Arrival at "White Oaks" . . . . .
9
- II. Some of the Things That Happened . . . . .
17
- III. Our Removal to Clayton . . . . . 23
- IV. The Attempt to "Tar and Feather"
My Father . . . . . 29
- V. The Year Eighteen Sixty-one . . . . . 33
- VI. The Gallant Fourth N. C. Regiment,
State Troops . . . . . 37
- VII. Letters from George and Walter . . . . . 41
- VIII. My First School Days . . . . . 135
- IX. My Father's Death and Burial . . . . .
139
- X. How the Sheriff Swindled My
Mother . . . . . 147
- XI. The Work We All Did During the
War . . . . . 155
- XII. Sherman's March to Raleigh, North
Carolina . . . . . 159
- XIII. The "Bummers" and "Red Strings" . . . . .
165
- XIV. The "Ku Klux Klan" . . . . . 171
Page 6
- CHAPTER
- XV. How I First Met "Uncle Ned" . . . . . 177
- XVI. The Beautiful Pink Frock . . . . . 191
- XVII. My First Great Sacrifice . . . . . 199
- XVIII. The State Tournament . . . . . 207
- XIX. The Great Race . . . . . 217
- XX. The Crowning of Nealie For Queen . . . . . 229
- XXI. The Coronation Ball . . . . . 235
- XXII. The Marriage of Ashley and Nealie . . . . . 241
- XXIII. The Conquering Hero Comes . . . . . 247
- XXIV. The Baptizing at Stallings Mill . . . . . 255
- XXV. The Meeting at the Well . . . . . 261
- XXVI. Jesse Falls in Love at First Sight . . . . . 265
- XXVII. I Am Not Far Behind . . . . . 271
- XXVIII. His Departure and My Grief . . . . . 275
- XXIX. Hear Rumor of Engagement to
Another Girl . . . . . 281
- XXX. I Am Very Unhappy . . . . . 285
- XXXI. Our Engagement . . . . . 291
- XXXII. One Evening's Entertainment . . . . . 299
- XXXIII. How My Mother Disposed of Us . . . . . 335
- XXXIV. Jesse's Enforced Absence . . . . . 341
- XXXV. My Mother Makes Us Happy at Last . . . . . 351
Page 7
Page 6
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
- Mrs. Jesse Mercer Battle (Laura Elizabeth Lee) Frontispiece
- "Aunt Pallas." . . . . . 10
- George . . . . . 42
- Walter . . . . . 132a
- "General Sherman halted and asked in a kindly
voice whether she had husband or sons
in the war." . . . . . 160
- "Uncle Ned." . . . . . 178
- Nealie and the Pink Frock. . . . . . 192
- "Uncle Ned's" Return. . . . . . 195
- "Dropped the wreath at my sister's feet." . . . . . 236
- "Give the horses the reins, Henderson, and
let them go the road they will." . . . . . 248
- "Until death do us part." . . . . . 352
Page 8
"The
dainty architects of prose and rhyme
Have
their brief niches in the Hall of Time;
But
he is master of the deathless pen,
Whose
words are written in the lives of men."
- WILLIAM H. HAYNE.
Page 9
CHAPTER I.
MY ARRIVAL AT "WHITE OAKS."
On
the twenty-sixth day of January, eighteen fifty-five,
I first saw the light. The day was cold and
raw, with snow flurries now and then filling the air.
It is not to be wondered at that my arrival was not more warmly welcomed, as it was the most unusual thing for snow to fall in that warm southern climate. Being the youngest of eleven children, also made the advent of another girl baby a source of indifference to the inmates of "White Oaks," the name by which our place was known.
The children were assembled for their noonday meal on this eventful day in the dining room where they were discussing the new baby and attempting the difficult task of finding a name, one that was not already in the family Bible or had not been in use in the family generations before. After many names had been rejected and scorned as unfit, Nealie cried out "Oh, let's name the baby Bettie!" The boys not caring one way or the other acquiesced immediately, but Flora implored them "No, no, not Bettie, call her Laura." While Rilia, then fourteen, and feeling quite motherly to all, declared they should compromise and call me "Laura Bettie," which suggestion quite satisfied them
Page 10
all, both boys and girls. Rilia was then deputized to visit the nurse, Aunt Pallas, and beg that this name be submitted to my mother, as pleasing all the children. She soon returned with the glad tidings that "Laura Bettie" would be enrolled in the old family Bible, which was well nigh filled, as "Laura Elizabeth," that being more suitable for me in later years, but she said "Lookee heah, chillun, you can call dat baby poah little ugly thing 'Bettie' or 'Laura,' but I'll do her laik I did 'Pussie' (her pet name for Cornelia), I'm a' gwine to call her Betsy." So it was settled by them, and from then on I was called by each of those names as each member of the family or friend happened to think of first.
Aunt Pallas, whom you will meet throughout the pages of this book, was a typical African in color, though her head was larger than the average negro, with the kinky hair growing low on her forehead, her eyes were very small, but lighted up by intelligence. Her nose was large and flat, and most decidedly gave the appearance of a full-blooded native of Africa. Her mouth was large, with full lips even adding to her homeliness. Her shoulders were square, the body and hips with straight lines like a man's. Her limbs were muscular and her stature, though short, was as erect as a young Indian's. She claimed that she made herself so by carrying pails of water on her head when she was a child.
"I declare before goodness," she used to say, "that Col. Johnnie Hinton bought my mammy from some niggah traders, dat told him mammy was a guinea niggah
and b'longed to de quality, an dats why she called
me Pallas - dey shore did get my name out of the
dicshummary." Her homeliness was so marked that
it really helped to make her attractive. Her age, like
every other one of her race, was a problem we never
could guess, except from bits of history that she would
tell us. She remembered when George Washington
died, and many incidents of the Revolutionary war.
Our large family lived on the farm called "White
Oaks," near a small town called Clayton. The land
my father planted in grain at that time, and as the
soil was later found suitable for cotton he and the
boys had hard times "making both ends meet." Two
of the older boys had married, leaving the burden on
him and the younger sons. He was well advanced
in years at this time. My father was a typical Southern
gentleman, with a courtly dignified bearing, and
was well educated for the times. He was a descendant
from that illustrious Virginia family whose lives
have been recorded on the pages of American history
since the Colony of Virginia first had a Secretary of
State, and before his marriage had taught school in
the town near his present home. It was there that he
met and married the daughter of a wealthy planter
and a large slave owner. Being an ardent abolitionist
he refused the gift of a young negro man and his
wife on his marriage to Candace Hinton. This refusal,
coupled with his outspoken convictions never to
own slaves, made him a target for the slave owners
in that section. It is true that "Aunt Pallas" was
a maid for his first wife, and was so devoted to her
that she was no more a slave than the wife, and was
permitted to do exactly as she pleased. When the
rumor spread abroad that Charles Lee was a rank
abolitionist there were already war clouds that bid
fair to darken the whole fair South-land; his father-in-law,
Col. John Hinton, forbade him ever "darkening
his doors." Whether the estrangement had anything
to do with a decline in her health, the wife soon sickened
and died, leaving behind her seven children, all
except two greatly in need of a mother's love and
tender care.
My father soon began casting about to find some one
who would be a mother to his babies. He had known
my mother as an acquaintance a few years, and his
wife always spoke so kindly of her and her great
beauty - that may have helped him to turn his footsteps
toward her home. My mother, also named Candace
Hawkins Turley, was a woman remarkably beautiful,
but whose family was obscure, excepting her
grandfather, Thomas Turley, who was a Revolutionary
soldier when the war for American Independence
began; he enlisted on the patriot side, and served
from the beginning of the Revolution to the siege of
Yorktown, at which place he was made an invalid for
life by the bursting of a British bomb shell near his
head. The story of his abduction when a baby, as
handed down, made interesting family history; he
was born in Ireland, and belonged to the Irish nobility.
As was the custom in such families, the children were
entrusted to white nurses, who became strongly attached
to their charges. Thomas Turley's nurse having
decided to emigrate to America, could not endure
the separation, and he was stolen by this woman and
reared by her in America.
This child never knew the secret of his life until
divulged by his old nurse on her deathbed. It was
said that he did not know his own name, as this woman
so much feared that her guilt might be known and
the child restored to his seeking parents.
It is not strange that my mother's family was obscure
with such a bit of family history. My father
must have had in mind, to avoid another estrangement
if he should attempt to marry again, another slave
owner's daughter. That my mother married him for
love goes without saying. My father then being over
sixty years old, had that to his disadvantage, though
his genial, kind nature, together with his scholarly
attainments and his descent from an old Virginia family,
no doubt added to his other attractions, and caused
my mother to hasten to be the wife of a widower,
now growing old, whose sole wealth was a ready-made
family, excepting, of course, the farm of "White
Oaks." It was even whispered then that he had consumption
and would not live five years longer.
My mother was a woman so strikingly handsome
that I shall not attempt more than a few words of
description. She was an Irish type of beauty, above
the medium height, with beautiful wavy brown hair,
a broad low brow, a classical Grecian nose; her eyes
of grey, were large and seemed unfathomable; her
mouth a perfect cupid bow, and ruby lips through
which shone pearl-like teeth, an oval face, with perfect
chin and ears, moulded on a neck of alabaster whiteness;
her pink cheeks glowed with health, her complexion
was marvellously fair, and the blue veins
showed their delicate tracery beneath a skin of polished
smoothness. A Madonna like face was my
mother's. There was nothing insipid in my mother's
beauty; it was a beauty of strength of mind, that
shone out on her noble mien, whether the tradition
in regard to her descent from the Irish nobility were
true or not, hers was a face of such uncommon beauty
that obscure birth could not hide the breeding and
noble race from which she sprang. Her very carriage
bespoke grace and dignity, with a firmness of purpose
that once she had taken hold of the plowshare, it would
take nothing less than victory to cause her to drop
it. Still there was nothing obstinate in her appearance,
only a resolute face and figure that radiated a beautiful
character in every suggestion.
- EDMUND SPENSER.
Well, somehow, widowers are more expeditious in
such matters, and after a very short courtship they
were married, and Candace Hawkins Turley went to
be mother and mistress of "White Oaks."
The time passed rapidly, filled with work and many
cares, and in five years she was the mother of four
children, three girls, one of whom died, and one boy.
They continued to live on the farm, though father
had no turn for farming; the poor land and the large
family made work enough for all, and a slave of my
mother. The older children were sometimes required
to look after me and their manner of amusing me
was at times very peculiar. I was told that on one
occasion when I was about ten months old father
took mother to church, at "Old Liberty," five miles
distant, Rilia, my half sister, and Nealie, the oldest
of my mother's children, took me out to the barn
where a pile of raw cotton had been thrown, reaching
up to the ceiling. These sisters of mine, wishing
to stop my cries for my mother, began to toss me up
on the pile of cotton and let me roll down to the floor
where they were carefully stationed to catch me. It
gave me great delight, and I set up such crowing
and laughing that it gave such zest to the pastime that I
began to laugh and crow louder. I suspect now that my
brains were being well addled, but any way the more I
laughed, the more I was kept tobogganing until in a
careless way Rilia threw me up and I went clear over the
top of the pile of cotton, rolled down and struck a beam
on the other side. Immediately I set up such a scream that
with great alarm they carried me back to the house where
Aunt Pallas discovered a sprained wrist and a dislocated
shoulder. It took hours in those days to drive five miles to
church and return, so my cries well night drove my poor
sisters wild, until my father returned and set the bones.
My poor mother declared it happened just because she
left me at home, and did not intend to ever do so again.
Still she and father were good Baptists and could not
resist the monthly meetings, at "Old Liberty" Church, and
there were many other times when I was left behind.
On another occasion the older children had me in
charge again, and decided upon another novel way of
amusing me. We were all playing in a large room with a
big high white bed in it, Nealie, after while, said: "Suppose
we amuse Bettie by making pictures for her," then turning
to me, she asked: "Wouldn't you like for sisters to make
some pretty pictures for baby to look at?" I smiled and
cried "Yes," whereupon the two held a whispered
conversation and immediately they made a dash for the
fire place, and placing their little white hands on the back
of the fire place that was all
covered in soot, ran to the bed and began laying their
hands on the pretty white counterpane trying to draw
pictures of dogs and people. I was the audience and had
a seat in the rear of the room, but not wishing to sit there,
while such works of art were being placed before me, I
up and toddled over to the bed and began to investigate.
Imagine my consternation on seeing my sisters begin to
turn black before my eyes, so I thought I'd rub the black
off them, when lo, I began to turn black too. Well, in a
short time the whole bunch of us were black and weird-looking.
I was so frightened I could hardly speak when
the door opened and father and my mother came in, and I
think the rod was not spared, on seeing the snow white
counterpane, covered in grotesque pictures and little
finger prints, even the walls were decorated to suit the
taste of the embryonic artists.
My first recollections of going to church at "Old
Liberty" were of being dressed up and riding with father
and mother in the barouche till we came to a deserted
looking house, standing by itself in a big grove of trees.
Then my mother led me around to the side of this house
where a great many ladies and children were sitting down
on a bench. After a while the door was unlocked and we
all went inside. The men all sat to themselves on one side
and the women and children sat on the other side of the
room. Then they all began to sing such a sleepy song, I
dozed off, but dreamily heard a man talking, and once in a
while he would shout so loud I'd awaken with a start, to
drop off to sleep again, my head resting on my mother's
lap. I awoke after a long time and saw a man handing
a plate to everybody, to take something to eat,
Oh! how glad I felt, but when my mother broke only
one tiny bite and then ate that, without even looking
at me, I was getting ready to weep, but when another
man came up with a silver goblet and she took a drink
and didn't look at me again, I gave one loud wail
and begged for a drink too; not only denied that,
but taken in her arms and toted out of the church,
before everybody. Then the cookies were found and
a nice gourd of cool water from the spring was given
me, and we went back home. I was old enough to
know why I was not permitted to partake of the
Lord's Supper the next time I went to "Old Liberty."
- ANONYMOUS
One day when father had returned from the corn
field my mother said to him, "Mr. Lee, I wish you
would move to Clayton where we will be near enough
to a school for the little children to go by themselves."
"Why, 'old woman' (calling her by his pet name for
my mother), "what shall I do with the farm?" "Rent
it," said my mother, "start up the old saw mill in
Clayton, build a home there for us to live in; I hear
that a great many people are anxious to move there
if they could only get the lumber to build with. We
have plenty of seasoned lumber," she continued, "to
build a home for us. Since some of the older children
are married it makes the work too hard on you. The
small children ought to be in school every day, and
here we have to send them and send after them and
many times the weather is so bad they don't go at all.
If we move to town there will be no excuse for staying
at home. When you have set up the saw mill
and supplied everybody with lumber for building,
you can take your money, and with some I had before
we were married, start some kind of a mercantile
business in this thriving little town. The rent from
the farm will put us in easy circumstances. This
money I have had for so long I intended to buy
with it a couple of young negroes to work this land
and increase their progeny. Knowing your feelings
I have nothing else to do but submit to your will,
though it has been a long cherished dream of mine
to use my money to buy slaves."
"Now 'old woman,' I decline to discuss this slavery
question again. I will never own another slave (if
you call Pallas such), and only pray that this talk
among the Northern statesmen may not end without
good results. No I will never buy a human soul with
money," emphatically declared my father. "So talk
no more about that, but your other proposition I believe
is a good one, and I will go to Clayton tomorrow
and see what I can do." My mother who had lived
in town before her marriage and was never pleased
to live on the farm, was delighted at the prospect of
a change to town.
Father went to Clayton the next day, bought a lot
and built a home and moved his family there within
the next year.
Clayton was beautifully situated. Nature had been
most lavish in her gifts. The hills, upon which the
town was built, gave a most picturesque look to the
undulating country for miles around, if the view had
not been obstructed by the tall pines and majestic oaks
that stood like sentinels to guard the lovely spot.
Flowers bloomed perpetually though there came nipping
frosts now and then which made malaria and
fever give it a "wide berth." The atmosphere was
always so dry that it gave one a feeling that it had
just come from the hands of its maker, so pure and
clean it appeared. The climate reached the happy
medium in winter and summer alike, it was never
enervating, for the ozone from the pine forests and
the oxygen that the grand old oaks set free gave health
and rosy cheeks to the children that roamed around
the little town. The streets were not paved, but like
the beach drives at the sea shore, were hard and
white, as if made of crystalline powder - and for racing
purposes gave the horses a firm footing though
cushioned and yielding. The water was noted for
its purity and health-giving qualities. Take it altogether
Clayton seemed to be about the "garden spot"
of the "Old North States," so far as what nature had
done for it. On one side of the town were the
"sunny banks of the rippling Neuse," inviting alike to
fisherman and picnicker. The other side was bordered
by "Little Creek," a limped stream filled with
silver perch. Added to these charms was the old
Academy for boys and girls, with its two large play
grounds which had more to do with our removal
there than anything that nature might have offered.
When father moved to Clayton, the mill did such
a good business that he was kept busy for five years.
In the meantime he bought pieces of land here and
there about town and with the money he made from
milling he bought a stock of goods and groceries and
established a mercantile business.
The war clouds were growing blacker and threatened
to end in something more than "talk."
He continued to talk against slavery, and the slave
owners began to fear that he might be a disturbing
element if let alone. One day father received an
anonymous letter, saying if he did not stop this talk
against slavery, that he would be "tarred and feathered
and ridden out of town on a fence rail."
He was then in very delicate health, and when he
came home and told my mother about this note she
was greatly agitated and said, "Why, Mr. Lee, what
shall we do, move back to the farm or what in the
world will you do?"
" 'Old woman' I shall stay right here and do my
work for I do not fear these men who are too cowardly
to sign their names to the letter of threats."
"Oh suppose they should try to carry out their diabolical
plot. I don't think we ought to stay here,
really 'White Oaks' is the only safe place. Come let
us move tomorrow."
"Never," said my father, very calmly but very firmly
too. "I am not a coward, for I inherit a love of my
country from my ancestors who helped to establish
independence in these colonies, but slavery and its
evils I forsee will precipitate another war for the freedom
of another race. I do not fear these threats for
the writers of this anonymous letter dare not do what
they no doubt would like to do, for such a thing would
be heralded from Maine to Texas, and my life, though
a forfeit, would help to free the slaves, even sooner
than I now think will be."
"Well, Mr. Lee, I can't help but fear all the same
such underhand work. It is not the foe we meet face
to face, but the enemy that slips upon us unawares,"
persisted my poor mother. "I dare not permit myself
to think of this horrible deed without being
alarmed and fearing for your safety. I shall keep a
close watch over you and not let you get far from
me," insisted mother.
"Well, 'old woman,' this cough means that my days
are numbered. I want to make my will and arrange
all my worldly affairs, so as to give you as little
trouble as possible. I want to leave you with the business
in good shape, knowing your fine executive ability,
so that everything will continue to run smoothly.
I am resigned to God's will, but hate to leave you, my
faithful wife, with the five small children." Here my
mother began to cry, "Oh don't speak of leaving me
and the children, I can't bear to hear you say it," and
thereupon she broke down again.
"Well, 'old woman,' this is a matter of business; that
you should know we are doing well in the store and
the farm is paying better than I ever hoped for. Raising
cotton has been more profitable, with the Jones
tenants, than my poor efforts at raising grain ever
were, besides bringing much higher prices."
However the days and nights were spent in horror
to my mother, though she tried to hide it from
father; the fear of those men doing that dastardly
deed, and the knowledge that father was daily growing
worse, made poor mother old before her time. I
remember going day after day with her to the store
where she sat and sewed, always near the door, and
scanning every one as they came in, her face wearing
a set look and a determined one, and I now think
after more than forty years have passed that it was
her presence, always near my father, that helped to
hinder those fanatics from perpetrating that black
crime.
- P. J. BAILEY.
My two half brothers,
Walter and George, were as
rank secessionists as my father was abolitionist.
Though only fifteen and seventeen years of age, these
boys had inherited from Col. John Hinton, their maternal
grandfather, a desire to own slaves, and always
declared when they were old enough that they would
have negroes to work for them. Still the main reason
for their being secessionists was that all their companions
were drilling and talking of war all the time.
Aunt Pallas having heard my mother tell of the note
to my father, in which he was to be "tarred and feathered
and ridden on a rail out of town," was so distressed
that she told Walter and George to get out the
old guns and put them in good condition, that they
didn't need to go off to shoot Yankees on account of
the trifling niggers. "I'll tell ye what we will do,
when anybody comes round heah looking for Marse
Charles we will take our guns and load up with powder
and go out and fire 'em off, he! he! I'll be seized
by cats, but dey nevah will try to ride any other gentleman
on a rail."
The boys were so angry at the bare mention of
such treatment for their good father that it was all
Aunt Pallas could do to keep Walter and George from
putting in bullets to kill somebody. At last she persuaded
them not to do it, still they "kept their powder
dry" and waited.
One beautiful moonlight night some one came to
our front door and knocked. One of the boys went to
open it and found waiting outside a negro boy, owned
by one of our near neighbors, who said "my master
sent me to ax your daddy to come out to de store and
let me have a bottle of castor ile, for brudder Reuben,
he got de colok." Aunt Pallas had posted Walter and
George that when they heard her singing "My head
got wet wid de midnight dew, honah de lam, good
Lawd honah de lam," they might know that the posse
were out after father. Before Walter had time to go
to father with the message Aunt Pallas began to sing
"Honah de lam" and both boys darted out to the place
where the guns were hidden, and with Aunt Pallas
leading the little army they made a rush for the big
oaks, and standing back of them they began to discharge
the old guns. At the first shot such consternation
seized these villains that the whole posse stampeded
and such running as they did has never been
seen before or since in that dignified old town of
Clayton. Of course Aunt Pallas and the boys ran after
them and continued to explode their powder, but so
effectually did the explosions work that no more attempts
were ever made on my father's life.
- PYRRHUS.
The year
eighteen sixty-one was ushered in with
loud mutterings of war, and among my earliest recollections
were those of seeing a body of men drilling
in front of our home. These militia companies were
being formed in every county, and the women and
girls were meeting in halls or school houses for the
purpose of sewing on flags and uniforms for the men
and boys, that later became soldiers. Everywhere was
heard the talk of war, even the small boys were hoping
for the time to come when they might be allowed to
shoulder a gun and go off to shoot "Yankees." One
day on our way home from school, some one told us
that Fort Sumter had been fired on, that was even unintelligible
to me, but greatly pleased my brother George,
for he threw up his cap and howled, "Hurrah for
South Carolina, I am going to be a soldier now."
My father was so feeble that when Walter and
George declared their intention of volunteering he
could not show them by his arguments that they were
wrong, and knowing, too, that his days were numbered,
felt that only a short time and they would
be at liberty to go to the war. From morning till
night was heard fife and drum, or the talk of the citizens
that preparations were being made all over the
South for a contest which would soon end in favor
of States' rights. Shortly trains loaded with men going
to enlist, and soldiers, kept the young people running
to the depot to see the different regiments. Everyone
had a flag which was waved as the trains passed
our town. Sometimes they made no stop at the station,
but the girls had notes of encouragement written
and placed between split sticks, and as the cars went by
the girls would throw their missives of faith and hope
to these strangers. When the ladies were sewing on
the uniforms the girls would write notes and put them
in the pockets of the soldiers' jackets. In these they
would write and beg the wearer to be true to his colors
and his country, and never despair until the last Yankee
had been whipped. Like "bread cast upon the
waters" the soldier boys read and were inspired with
courage to go on, and very many correspondences begun
like that, ripened in later years into love and marriage.
- WILLIAM WINTER.
The day
that the gallant "Fourth North Carolina
Regiment" passed our town my half brothers, Walter
and George, bade us all goodbye amid tears and hurrahs,
bands playing and the crowd singing, "Shout the
joyous notes of freedom" and off to the war they went.
They had spent some little time at Fort Macon, but
now they were on their way to Richmond and death.
Some of their letters have been preserved up to this
time; they were written on scraps of writing paper
and sometimes cheapest wrapping paper. It
may be interesting to publish them for future
generations, to know exactly what two young
Southern boys thought of war in the beginning, and
how one, at least, throughout those terrible battles at
Spottsylvania Court House, etc., lasted to give us such
a vivid description of them, and I have written them
verbatim from the original letters, and know nothing
was exaggerated from their view point. This extract
from the letter of a friend shows how fine looking
and soldierly in bearing these brave men and boys
of the Fourth North Carolina were considered by a
friend who saw them in Richmond soon after their
arrival.
""The Fourth North Carolina Regiment" is the recipient
of unmeasured praise for their deportment while
on leave and their soldierly bearing in the ranks. In
fact not a regiment has come from our state that has
not elicited unstinted commendation for their fine appearance.
It does me good to stand in a crowd as I
did on Sunday when the "Fourth" passed through the
streets and hear the hearty words of satisfaction expressed
as to the material, the "Old North State" was
sending into the field. Such expressions as "Did you
ever see such determined looking fellows, steady, cool
and resolute looking?" "What should we fear while
such as these are between Richmond and the enemy?"
I assure you I felt like giving one uproarious shout
for the "Old North State" forever. I enclose you a
rare curiosity, being the Federal version of the glorious
battle at Manassas. It is a curiosity, inasmuch as no
instance is known where a Lincolnite has put so many
words together with so few monstrous discrepancies
spicing the whole, and I have marked them, under the
influence of the panic which such news created. A
greater proportion of truth bubbled forth than usually
characterizes their accounts of such disasters to their
arms."
Richmond, July 23, 1861.
ROBERTSON.
- MICHAEL ALTENBURG.
FORT MACON,
N. C., April 19, 1861.
Dear Mother:
There is only about two or three hundred men here as
yet. There are more men expected daily. Our company is
the largest, the best looking (so said by the men here),
that there is in the Fort.
George and Tom Stith are down on the beach shooting
porpoises. I had to borrow this piece of paper to write to
you, George having the paper in his valise.
The company has this evening to look around.
Tomorrow we have to commence drilling. George has
just come in. He says he had lots of fun, and told
me to tell you that he would write to you tomorrow.
He found a good many curious looking shells, which
he has put in his valise, to carry home. Blake asked
me to say to Mr. Rhodes that he was very well satisfied,
indeed. The whole company is enjoying themselves
very much. I will write to you again as soon
as I hear from you. Please write to me often. Direct
to Fort Macon, care of Capt. Jesse Barnes. Your
affectionate son, till death,
WALTER.
FORT MACON, N. C., April 28, '61.
Dear Mother:
For the last day or two we have been living on the
victuals that the people sent down here. The first few
days we had bread, butter, etc., but as they have given
out we live on bread, fat meat and coffee. If Blake
does not tell you, I wish you would please send Walter
and me a cooked ham and some biscuits, with a few
of those small round cakes, for the cakes that are sent
down here for the company are usually taken care
of by the officers and are hardly seen by the privates.
Walter is upon his bunk enjoying himself finely and
sends his love to you. I am going to try to get a furlough
to go home before long, for I long to be home
with you all. * * * I forgot to tell you that we did
not have to drill or work either this Sunday like we
did the last. You spoke of sending a mattress down
to us, but you need not for we are getting along
very well. We are ordered to stay down here three
months without lief to go home in the meantime, so
Col. Tew says. Believe me as ever
Your loving son,
CAMP HILL, N. C., July 9, 1861.
Dear Mother:
It is different with us here to what it was in Fort
Macon and Newbern, as we are now the same as regulars.
We have to come under the general regulations
of war. I do not think that we will leave here for
some time yet, as the whole regiment has to be uniformed
with state dress. We have not received anything,
and have only drilled this morning. Capt. Hall,
of the Irish Company of Wilmington, in Tew's regiment,
had one of his men hung over a pole by the
thumbs, but Col. Tew had him taken down. In Tew's
regiment there are 200 men sick, and a great many have
died already, but in ours there are only two in the hospital.
Walter sends his love. When you write, direct
Camp Hill, Company F., Fourth Regiment, infantry.
Goodbye.
Your affectionate son,
RICHMOND, VA., July 22, 1861.
Dear Mother:
We are enjoying ourselves finely. I have not had
anything to eat since yesterday morning, except some
cake and apples. We slept on the ground last night,
and I felt sorter chilly this morning, but we will soon
get used to that. I must close now. Give my love
to all.
Goodbye.
Your affectionate son,
GEORGE.
RICHMOND, VA., July 22, 1861.
My Dear Mother:
There is not much to write, as we are about four
miles from the center of the city. We don't hear
any news, though we heard yesterday that they were
fighting at Manassas Gap all day. We heard none
of the particulars. Captain rather expects to leave
to-day, but I do not think we will. Col. Anderson
came along with us. We left half of the regiment
at Camp Hill (five companies). My opinion is that
we will stay here until the other five companies come,
and all of us leave together.
David Carter and little lawyer Marsh are both Captains
in our regiment. George got the bundle you
sent him yesterday. We are enjoying camp life now
to perfection. Heretofore we have had a plank floor,
but now we pitch our tents, spread our blankets on
the ground and sleep as sound as you please. I never
slept better in my life than I did last night. If it
stops raining this morning I expect to go up town
shopping, and if I have time I want to have myself
and George's likeness taken together and send it
home, as you may never see either of us again.
I can't tell you anything about Richmond yet, as
we have not seen any part of it but one street, that
was about four miles long, and led out of town to
our camp. We are much obliged for the bed quilts.
They do us a great deal of good. We do not trouble
ourselves to carry them, but roll them up in our tents.
We got blankets before we left our camps. Some of
them were the finest I ever saw. I was detailed to
give the blankets and knapsacks out, so I kept the best
out for all the boys in our tent. They are so fine
and nice I hate to spread them on the ground.
Fitzgerald, Henry Warren, Billy Barnes, Tom Stith,
George and myself compose the inhabitants of our
tent. We have a very respectable crowd. I like it
much better than being in a room with the whole
company. As we are we have just as nice and quiet
a time of it as if we were in a private room.
Give my love to sisters, and believe me, as ever, your
sincere and affectionate son,
WALTER.
P. S. I don't know where to tell you to direct your
letters in future, as it is uncertain how long we stay
here.
COMPANY F., FOURTH REGIMENT, N. C. STATE
TROOPS.
NEAR MANASSAS JUNCTION, VA., July 31, 1861.
Dear Mother:
we did not expect to stay here this long without having
a fight. I went over to the battle field last Sunday,
and there met a most horrible sight, for it had been
over a week after the fight, and the bodies of the men
had been blackened by the burning sun and the horses
had a most disagreeable smell.
On our going on the field the first object that met
our gaze was a grave in which fifteen North Carolinans
were buried. We next came to a Yankee who
had only a little dust thrown over him. One of his
hands was out, which looked very black, the skin
peeling off, and you could see the inscission in it. The
next which I noticed particularly had his face out and
his white teeth looked horrible. The worms were eating
the skin off his face. It made me shudder to think
that perhaps I may be buried that way.
There are wounded prisoners all through the country
in every house. I hope that peace will soon be
declared, that we may enjoy the happiness with which
we were once blest. I wish you all would write to
me for I long to hear from you.
I suppose you heard about Frank T. running
from the enemy; it is true, the officers told it. The
General gave him his choice to have a Court Martial
or be discharged through cowardice, and he took the
latter.
We have our little bantams with us yet, and we
intend that they shall crow in Washington City, which
is only thirty-three miles off, if we live. I must close.
Goodbye,
Your affectionate son,
MANASSAS JUNCTION, August 23, 1861.
My Dear Mother:
Ed Harris is now here with us, he came day before
yesterday. He will leave in the morning, and I shall
send this letter by him. He got here through the influence
of some members of Congress of his acquaintance
in Richmond.
Give my love to all. Tell them to write often and
let us hear all the news.
Good bye.
Your devoted son,
P. S. Please name my dog Nero and try to make
him of some account. What is sister's address?
Dear Mother:
I wish some of you would write every day, for I
do love to hear from home so much. I do not know
what else to say, I only thought I would write to let
you know that I was still in the land of the living.
Write soon, some of you. Tell Dr. Harrell that I
shall endeavor to write to him soon. If you have an
opportunity, I wish you would send some paper and
envelopes, as every letter we send costs about ten
cents, and that is too exorbitant a price. Give my love
to all. Goodbye.
Your loving son,
MANASSAS JUNCTION, October 11, 1861
Dear Mother:
I am thankful for the boots, which are a trifle too
large but I reckon by the time that I put on two or
three pairs of stockings, they will nearly fit me. We
were all very glad to see the captain and we were
also pleased to see the things he brought with him,
which added so much to our comfort. Times are all
very quiet about here. We hear firing on the Potomac
nearly every day, though I heard some of the
boys say that Mr. Christman was collecting goods to
bring to the soldiers. If such be the case I wish you
would send me an old quilt or something as somebody
has stolen my shawl and I think I shall need one this
winter, but you need not send anything unless some
one can bring it, for it will cost too much to get anything
here. We are all well and if we had been sick
our boxes would have cured us. Concerning what
Jeff Davis says, I don't think I shall take any notice
of it at all, for there are already too many healthy
young men skulking around home and I could not bear
the disgrace of leaving the army because I was not
eighteen years old, but shall stay in the service until
the war is over. I must close now, give my love to
all and tell them to write.
Goodbye.
Your loving son,
MANASSAS JUNCTION, VA., October 24, 1861.
Dear Mother:
You were speaking of your hogs being fat. You
ought to see these up here, they are so fat that they
can hardly get along. The beeves that we have here
are the fattest and prettiest I ever saw. They are
generally large young cows, nearly twice as large as
ours at home. I have often wished that you could
have such at home. We have got thick overcoats from
the government, with capes reaching below our elbows.
They are of great service to us in standing
guard. If we had a good dog and was allowed to
shoot, we could live on rabbits, for I never saw so
many in my life, the woods are full of them. If I
only had Leo here now, I could get along very well. I
don't want him to be an unruly dog, for he comes of
such good breed that I would not like to hear of his
being killed.
I should like to be at home in hog killing time, and
wish I could see Tasso now, for I know he is a fine
looking dog. I hope Walter's puppy will not turn out.
I should like to be at home with you on Christmas,
but the way affairs are going on now I do not think
there is any likelihood of it, as for winter quarters,
I do not expect that we will go into any at all, for the
enemy pride themselves on standing the cold weather
and I expect they will attack us in the dead of winter.
We learned from the prisoners that the enemy intended
to attack us in two or three days, but let them come
when they will. I will insure them a very warm reception.
Before this reaches you will have heard of L.
Barnes' death and also of Bowden's discharge from
the army on account of being a minor, etc. Lafayette's
death has cast a deep gloom over the company, for
he was a very much beloved member. I will be very
glad to get those blankets but I would wait and send
them by some one, as they might get lost by themselves.
All send their love to you.
Give my love to all. Goodbye.
Your loving son,
CAMP PICKINS, MANASSAS, VA., NOV. 2, 1861.
MR. CHAS. W. LEE.
Yours
of the 29th ult. was received to-day, contents
duly noted, and I hasten to reply. I must confess
to a feeling of surprise that you desire the discharge
of your son, Mr. G. B. Lee, from service, as I was of
the opinion that you had fully and determinedly given
your consent to his serving in the army of the C. S.
during the war. Yet, however much I should regret to
see George leave us, as he has been with us so long and
has been, though young, a strong, athletic and good
soldier, you have my free consent to have him discharged.
You will be the proper person to apply to
the Government through the War Dept., for the same,
where I doubt not, should you still desire him to leave,
you can, by presenting the facts, after a while obtain
his discharge. It is not in my power to do more than
give my consent, which you now have. George expressed
some surprise on receiving your letter,
and says he don't want to leave. I, of course, do not
deem it proper to give him any advice, but simply told
him to write you whatever he might think proper, as
of course you were the person to advise him, when
you could. He has just handed me a letter to enclose
to you with this. Whatever course you may pursue
I shall willingly acquiesce in. If he is still left in my
charge, I shall, as heretofore, advise and correct him
and use every effort in my power to secure his happiness
and welfare. Hoping to hear from you again
and that my answer may be satisfactory, I remain,
Yours most respectfully,
MANASSAS JUNCTION, VA., November 2, 1861.
Dear Father:
I received your letter this morning through Captain
Barnes and I never was more surprised in my life, to
hear that you had applied for my dismissal for,
although I should like very much to go home, I do not
like the idea of being discharged from the army on
account of my age, for in size and strength I consider
myself able to stand the campaign, and should I go
home, I do not think that it would be entirely right
for me to stay there when our coast is in such imminent
peril. I compare this war to that of the revolutionary,
when our ancestors fought for their liberty,
that whoever remained neutral were considered Tories,
and I think that when this war is over and peace is
declared, those who had no hand in it will be considered
in the same light as the Tories of old, and I have
too much pride in me to allow others to gain the
rights which I will possess, besides it would take two
or three months before a discharge could be obtained.
It took Mr. Bowden that long to get his son discharged.
Captain Barnes is going to write and he
will tell you all about it.
I am very well satisfied here. I am treated well,
and am permitted every indulgence which the army
regulations will permit. All the boys wish me to
stay. I am a minor in age, as you say, but I am a
man in size and everything else, and fully able to be
a soldier. Nothing would afford me greater
pleasure than to be of service to you, but
the confederacy also needs my services. But if you
still insist upon my coming home, you can write again.
I expect Bowden pictured to you the darkest side of
a soldier's life, but there is enough enjoyment blended
with it to make a soldier's life very pleasant.
I must close now, so goodbye,
Your loving son,
MANASSAS JUNCTION, VA., December 9, 1861.
Dear Mother:
I
received your letter some days since and was very
glad to hear from you and would have answered immediately
but Walter has gone to Richmond and I
thought I would wait until he came back. He went
with a detail of men to carry prisoners who were taken
by the N. C. Cavalry. He came back day before yesterday
and brought us several books to read. Among
the prisoners was a deserter from the Federal camp.
He was a Baron in Russia and being of an adventurous
disposition, he came over to participate in a battle or
two and accepted a Lieutenant's commission in the
Federal army, but finding, as he said, that there was
not a gentleman in the whole army, he deserted, took
a horse and came into our camp and has been sent to
Richmond for trial. Formerly he had a commission
in the Russian army, which he showed to the people.
We are expecting a battle daily. Yesterday we were
presented with a battle flag from General Beauregard,
consisting of white cloth crossed with blue. This
is for us to fight under and also every other regiment
has one. The enemy knows our national flag and had
already tried to deceive us by hoisting it at their head.
Now I guess we will deceive them next time.
Our company has been detached from the regiment
for the purpose of taking charge of two batteries which
another company has left. We are now relieved of a
great deal of duty, for we only have to guard the
batteries which take six men a day and that brings
us on about once a week, and we drill occasionally.
With that exception we have nothing to do, but if
the regiment leaves to go into a fight our company
goes also, and if the battle rages at this point we will
give them a few grapes to eat and also a few shells
to hide themselves in and then we will play ball with
them for a while.
Walter is still at his old, or rather, new post, and
has a great deal to do as the chief clerk is very sick.
I hope we shall get a chance to come and see you
before the winter is gone, but I have given up the
idea of seeing you this Christmas, altogether, but after
the fight I reckon we can get a chance to go home.
Give my love to all and tell them to write soon.
Goodbye. I remain as ever,
Your loving son,
MANASSAS JUNCTION, VA., January 16, 1862.
Dear Sister:
I received your letter some days since and was very
much rejoiced to hear from you, but I thought that
you were a very long time in answering my last. It
came at last and eagerly did I devour the contents and
with what pleasure I lingered on every sentence, no
tongue can tell. The description you gave of your
tableaux interested me very much, and I regret
very much, not being able to have been there,
as all such scenes always interest me so much,
besides the desire of seeing you act. I think,
myself, that you should have had your face painted,
and that would have set off the piece a great deal. It
is a pretty hard piece. Didn't you feel pretty scared?
What does Dick act? Who was that sweetheart of
yours that has been home four times? I should like
to know him.
We have a hard time of it here now. The ground
is covered with snow and then a sleet over that, and
it is nearly as cold as the frozen regions, the winds
come directly from mountains and blow around us
like a regular hurricane. But we have now moved
into our winter quarters, huge log hut, and we keep
very comfortable, but it is nothing like home, home
with its sweet recollections. As I sit and write I cannot
refrain from gliding back into the past and enjoying
the blessed memories of yore. But enough of
indulging the imagination, for this is a sad reality and
it will not do for my imagination to assume too large
a sway. Tell Miss Myra that when I visit Washington
I will call on her parents. I expect to go there
soon, either as a visitor or captive, but I hope as the
former. We will have a tableau before long, I expect,
but I expect the scene will be played in a larger place
than a hall. It will encompass several miles and will
take several hours to perform it, but when it does come
off it will end in a sad havoc. I am very thankful to you
for those socks you knit for me, and when I wear them I
shall think of you. All around me are asleep and the huge
logs have sunk into large livid coals ever and anon
emitting large brilliant sparks, that cast a ghastly hue
around the whole room, and I now think it time to close,
so goodbye.
Your loving brother,
MANASSAS JUNCTION, February 22, 1862.
Dear Mother:
I did
not intend to write before the Captain came back,
but as one of our men is going home on a sick furlough I
though I would write a few lines to let you know how we
are. I expect the Captain is at Richmond at the
Inauguration of the President (Jeff Davis), if so he will be
here by tomorrow night, and we are all anxiously waiting
for his return, each one looking for a letter and a box of
good things.
The weather is still very bad and there is an incessant
rain since morning, the roads are so sloppy and rough that
the wagons can hardly get along over them and very
frequently we have our wood to carry on our shoulders to
keep our fires burning, but nevertheless we are getting
along nicely and not much incommoded from the
inclemency of the weather.
To-day you will remember is my birthday, seventeen
years old. In size I have been a man for sometime, and
now I am nearly one in age. I do not feel as boyish as I
did when I left home, for here we have
to act the man whether we are or not, and it has been
quite natural for me to do so. In the service is a splendid
place to study human nature, you can very early find out
what a man is. This war will be a benefit to me and an
injury to others. Some seem to lose all pride for self, and
like a brute are governed entirely by their animal
passions. Such persons may be found kneeling at the
shrine of Bacchus, to such persons it is decidedly
injurious. As for myself, I think it will be very beneficial,
for I learn to take care of myself, think and act for
myself. I now see how much education is needed, and I
regret exceedingly not having applied myself more
closely when I had the opportunity. If this war closes
within the next year I intend to go to school again, and at
the shrine of Minerva seek that which I have never
obtained.
One Company of the North Carolina Cavalry were
taken prisoners the other day. I do not know which
company. Was never in better health. Give love to all.
Your loving son,
You must excuse such a disconnected letter for my
mind is very much confused. Love to all, Miss Mollie and
everybody.
MANASSAS JUNCTION, VA., March 5, 1862.
Dear Mother:
As
I have nothing to do to-day, I thought I would let
you all know how we are getting along. The weather is
still very bad, ground muddy and miry
as it can be. We all have had orders to have our
heavy baggage ready to send off at a moment's notice,
and also to be ready for the field. The enemy is continually
marching upon us, and I expect that we will
be in a fight soon, but the enemy cannot do so much
damage for they cannot bring their artillery along
with them. I was vaccinated last week and my arm
is now very sore. I am excused from duty on account
of it. I wish you would please get a pair of bootlegs
and have them footed for me, a thick double soled
pair, that will stand anything, and well put up so that
there will be no ripping, and send them by Pat Simms.
Ask him to take them along with him or Virgil, and
also send what they cost, for I don't reckon that you
have the ready cash, and will send the money. Let
the boots be No. 8, made so that they will fit him, for
I guess our feet are pretty near the same size. If you
cannot get a pair made, get a pair out of the store,
for I am just almost out and there is none about here.
Tell my
sisters I think they could answer my letters.
I must close now. Give my love to all.
Your loving son,
Don't get the boots if they cost exceeding $10.00.
March 14, 1862.
Dear Mother:
We are
all well as can be expected from the situation
that we are now in. We have retreated from Manassas
on account of not being able to hold our position.
We are now 25 miles from Manassas, across
the Rappahannock, and camped upon a high hill that
commands a splendid view of that part of the river,
which the enemy is compelled to cross.
We left
Manassas on Sunday night and traveled
until about 1 o'clock. When we camped for the night,
everything that we could not carry on our backs was
burned up, and I can tell you that you cannot imagine
how much we suffered on the march, which consisted
of three days' traveling, loaded down with our baggage
and equipment, sleeping on the hard, cold ground,
feet sore, half fed on hard dry crackers and meat.
Our lot was not to be envied, and it is amazing how
we bore up under the circumstances. We have been
at this place for a day or two, for what purpose I know
not, unless it be for us to recruit up for another march.
We have no tents here to sleep in, but we have made
ourselves shelters out of cedar bushes. We all seem
to flourish, nevertheless.
The
night we left Manassas it was burnt down and
I expect there was a million of goods consumed on
that night, all the soldiers' clothes they could not carry
with them and everything that could have been expected
to be at such a place where everything was sent
to this division of the army, all was burnt.
I do
not know where to tell you to send your letters,
for I do not know how long we will stay here, so I
reckon you had better not write at all. When I get
to a place where it is likely we will stay, I will write
again at a better opportunity.
Give my love to all. Goodbye.
Your loving son,
HDQTS. SPECIAL BRIGADE, NEAR RAPIDAN
STATION, VA., March 23rd, 1862.
My Dear Mother:
We
received your letter last night dated the 6th of
March. 'Tis the first time any of us have heard from
home within the last two weeks. We have had considerable
excitement since you last heard from us. To-day,
two weeks ago, we evacuated Manassas and have
been moving to the rear ever since. We are now on
the South side of the Rapidan River, where I think
we will make a stand. But nothing is known for certain,
I don't believe the Generals themselves know.
The night we left Manassas (about sunset) we
marched ten miles that night, stopped about two o'clock
and slept on the ground with the sky for a covering.
We haven't had a tent in two weeks. We are playing
the soldier now in good earnest. The last three days
we marched it rained every night just as soon as
we would stop for the night. After walking all day,
carrying your ALL on your back, then having to start
a fire out doors without wood (we have no light wood)
and cook your next day's ration, is pretty hard soldiering,
I can assure you. Though the boys all seem to
be cheerful. We have very little sickness and for the
last ten days (a circumstance not known before since
we have been in Virginia) we haven't had a man to
die in the Regiment. Pat Simms and his recruits have
not yet arrived, they were stopped at Gordonsville
some time ago, while we were making our retreat from
Manassas. We expect them daily.
The Yankees have been some distance this side of
Manassas. Our troupes had a little skirmish with them
a day or two after we left, some of the Cavalry came
in sight of our pickets. They fired on them and they
disappeared, 'tis reported that they have gone back
to Centerville, perfectly non-plussed at our movement.
The country we are now occupying is the prettiest and
the most beautiful scenery you ever saw. We can see
the mountains in the distance covered with snow, and
when the sun shines it is sublime. We are on what is
called the "Clark Mountain." There is a mountain
or rather hill, on a mountain, about a quarter of a
mile off that commands a view of the country for
miles around, some of the men are up there all the
time. I intend to send this letter to Richmond to be
mailed. I do not know that there is any communication
between here and Richmond. We only got the old
mail that was stopped at Gordonville
. MacWilliams,
one of our company, is going to Richmond tomorrow
on business. I will get him to mail it for me.
I do not see a word about this move in the papers,
so I must think the Government is withholding it
from them, to prevent the Yankees from obtaining
information. Johnnie Dunham is still A. A. Genl.
of the Brigade and I am writing for him, though I do
not have one third to do that I did at Manassas, as
that was a regular military post. We had inspection
to-day, to see how the guns, etc., were getting on after
the hard usage and bad weather they have gone
through lately.
Write soon. We may get all of your letters, though
you might not get all of ours, unless mailed beyond
Gordonsville. Give my love to all the family, Aunt
and Claudia, etc. etc. I remain,
Your sincere and devoted son,
March 23rd, 1862.
Dear Mother:
As Walter did not mention me in his letter, I thought
I would let you know that I am well. Walter has
told you nearly everything that transpired on our
tramp, so I have not anything to tell except the burning
of the property at Manassas the same day that
we left. We had been told to go to the Junction and
get what things out of our boxes as we could carry
on our backs, for the boxes would not be carried on
the train. After we left, the town was set on fire, and
I expect that a million dollars' worth of property was
consumed. We had to leave our little Bantam chickens,
as we had no way to carry them. The first night
of our march, I never suffered so much from fatigue
in my life. When we did halt we fell on the ground
and slept soundly until next morning. I do not expect
you can hardly read this, as it is done by a log fire
on my cartridge box. Must close. Good bye.
Your loving son,
YORKTOWN, VA., April 13, 1862.
Dear Mother:
I commenced a letter to you the other day but was
unable to finish it, being called off to participate in a
slight skirmish with the Yankees. We arrived at this
place last Thursday evening and having sent out our
portion of the picket, of which I was one, we ate our
hard bread and meat and laid on the hard, cold ground
for the night, with the blankets we brought on our
backs for a covering. On Friday we were ordered out,
for the Yankees were about to attack us, our skirmishers
went out towards the enemy for the purpose
of drawing them within range of our batteries, the
enemy came in sight with a long line of artillery and
drew up in battle array about half a mile from our
batteries, by that time there was some right hard fighting
on the part of the skirmishers. About two o'clock
p.m., our batteries opened upon them and they were
returned with the greatest alacrity; bombs, shells and
balls flew about promiscuously, but happily they did
no damage on our side, nearly all of them going over
our heads. We threw some shells that seemed to do
damage with the Yankees, the way they scattered when
the shell fell among them. One shell which came over
us bursted and fell all around, one piece fell right between
two of our boys, but no injury done. The
firing continued until dark, in the time the skirmishers
set fire to a large dwelling house, near the enemy's
infantry and under the cover of the smoke they broke
in on them and routed them, but they had soon to retreat
for the Yanks turned their batteries upon them,
after which hostilities ceased for the night. We lay
in the entrenchments all night. Next morning, Saturday,
the enemy was not to be seen. This morning
we are expecting an attack again, and have been
ordered into the entrenchments, but they have not made
an attack yet.
Gen. Magruder says that if they do not attack us
to-day, that he will them to-morrow. We are exactly
on the battle ground of Washington and Cornwallis,
but all that remains to be seen are the old breastworks
of the British, which lie immediately behind ours.
The Yankees hold the same position that Washington
did. There is also the place where Cornwallis surrendered
his sword to Washington. Yorktown is the
oldest place I ever saw. I do not believe that there
is a single house that has been built in fifty years. As
I was walking through the town, I chanced to come
upon an old grave yard, that had gone into entire ruin.
There could be seen the tombstone of the Revolutionary
soldier, citizen and foreigner. The oldest one was
dated 1727, that was the tombstone of an old lady
sixty years old, and another of a president of his
majesty's council in Virginia. He died in 1753, and
all the rest of nearly the same date. It was a perfect
pleasure to me to look over the old place, such a contrast
to the clay hills of Manassas. I feel nearer
home, but still I am a long ways off. I am wanted
now, as they are continually detailing men for something
or other. I will send the letter I wrote the other
day. When the battle closes I will write again.
Give my love to all.
Your loving son,
P. S. I have not heard from Walter yet, except
from a man that came from the hospital, he says that
his hand is nearly well.
RICHMOND, VA., June 15, 1862.
Dear Mother:
I
hope you are not uneasy about me because I have
not written before. I knew if I wrote it would take
a week for you to get it, so I put it off till I could send
it by Mr. Albert Farmer, who will go tomorrow. The
Surgeon of the hospital has given me a passport to
stay wherever I please in the city and report to him
every week. I believe I should go crazy if I had to
stay out in the hospital where everything is so dull and
disheartening. In fact I don't believe I am the same
being I was two weeks ago, at least I don't think as
I used to and things don't seem as they did. I don't
believe I will ever get over the death of George. The
more I think of him the more it affects me, and unless
I am in some battle and excitement I am eternally
thinking of the last moments of his life. How he
must have suffered, if he was conscious of it. I shall
never forget it. I think a long letter from some of
you would make me feel so much better. I shall send
by Mr. Farmer my watch, sleeve buttons, also the shirt
I wore off. Everything I ought to have left at home
I brought away and a great many things I ought to
have brought I left behind. I only brought one flannel
shirt, and by the way I'll send this one back and try
this summer without them, as they are very heavy for
summer wear. The war news you read every day in
the papers, but Capt. Billy Brown came down from
Gordonville
with some of Jackson's prisoners. He
says he was in Lynchburg. Twenty-two hundred were
sent in and that thirteen hundred were on the way.
The Yankees that are near Richmond, we don't hear
anything of, everything is quiet. Please some of you
write me soon.
Your loving son,
HEAD QUARTERS, ANDERSON BRIGADE,
RIPLEY DIVISION, August 11, 1862.
My Dear Mother:
I am
sorry I have kept you waiting so long before
writing to you, but I thought I would wait until I could
have a talk with General Anderson to find out what I
was to do before writing. I sent word by John Hines,
also Dr. Barham, that I was well and for them to tell
you all the news. When I arrived at the Camp of our
Regiment it was gone to Malvern Hill to have a fight
with the Yankees. They did not return in a day or
two. General Anderson went to Richmond immediately
on business, so I did not have an opportunity of
speaking with him until this morning. He was perfectly
willing for me to come back into the office, so
I commenced duty this morning. We have a very
pleasant place for our quarters, a large two story house
with plenty of shade, in an open field, where we have
the breezes from every direction.
I don't know yet, but I may come up here to mess
and sleep, though I thought I would wait a while. I
haven't slept in a tent since I've been in camp, but
once. That was last night. It rained yesterday morning,
and the ground was wet, and the air rather cold,
so I thought I would go in the tent, as it was
convenient. I shall go in bathing tonight to cool off, and
sleep out doors. We have an excellent place for that
purpose, that is bathing. It's been awfully hot here
today. I believe it is warmer here than at home.
General G. W. Smith was to-day assigned to the
command of our Division. I understand he is an excellent
officer. Some of our regiments in this brigade
have received their conscripts. They are a very good
looking set of men seen drilling in a field, as they
were this morning. It looks right funny to see men
so green, but I suppose all of us were so at first, and
we ought not to make fun of them. Dossey's Regiment
is only about half mile from here. He has been
to see me twice since I have been here. I went over to
see him last Saturday. He was very well. I went up
to see Dunham when I passed through Richmond, but
he had gone home the week before, so I was disappointed.
Give my best respects to all friends, and my
love to all the family, some of you write often and tell
me everything that happens about town.
Goodbye, as ever,
Your loving son,
P. S. I've got to endorse this letter for the want
of stamps. I haven't written any in so long a time
that my hand is as stiff as if I had been mauling rails,
you can readily see the difference now and some time
ago. I hope it will soon get better.
I forgot to tell you that our whole brigade was
throwing up breastworks every day, about two miles
from here, that is the only duty they do now, no guard
duty.
HEAD QUARTERS, ANDERSON BRIGADE,
My Dear Mother:
As Mr.
Parker will leave in the morning for home,
I thought I would avail myself of the opportunity to
let you hear from me. There is nothing new to write
in the way of "War News." You hear everything that
we do, and that's in the papers. Everything on our
lines is quiet. We were put under marching orders
a day or two ago, with the expectation of making
another march to "Malvern Hill," but the Yankees
left and it saved us the trouble of running them away.
Eight hundred of the Brigade are still working on
the breastworks, some two miles below here. I am
in hopes the Yankees will never get near enough to
Richmond for us to have to fight behind them. The
other regiment in the Brigade has received their conscripts,
ours is the smallest one and we haven't received
a single one, and I hope we won't.
General Anderson was making a calculation this
morning and he says that we have lost 226 men, killed
and died from their wounds, since the day before we
went into the fight at "Seven Pines." The Regiment
is now under command of Pat Simms. All of our
company are in very good health. I don't believe that
we have a single man on the sick list, and I believe it
is owing in a great degree to the good water we get.
It is the best we have had since we've been in Virginia.
I am getting along very well indeed, enjoying
excellent health, and have a very pleasant time.
We have very little writing to do, not half as much
as we had at Manassas. General Anderson has no
Adj. General yet. I would not be surprised if he
was not waiting for Dunham to get well. I believe
he likes Dunham better as an officer than any man in
the Brigade. He has one of his brothers (Walker)
as one of his Aides. I wish you would please look
in my trunk and send me that brown veil that you
will find. I want it to put over my face when I take
a nap in the morning, to keep off the flies. You
never saw any flies yet, you can measure them by the
bushel here. The mosquitoes are terrible here, too. I
shall put it over my face when I sleep out of doors,
and that's every night that it don't rain. I've just
learned from Mr. Parker that little Leon was dead.
Poor little fellow, I never thought that when I left
home it would be the last time I should see him.
Give my love
to all the family, my respects to all
my friends. Write soon, tell me all the news.
Your affectionate son,
P. S. Please send the veil by the first one coming
to our camp. Give my respects to all the boys that
you see.
HEAD QUARTERS, ANDERSON BRIGADE,
My Dear Mother:
This
is the first opportunity that I have had to
write to you since we left our camp near Richmond.
Mr. Christman left us, or rather parted from us, in
Richmond as we passed through on our march. Blake
and myself did not get the barrel that was sent by Mr.
Christman, though we had just as much fruit and
Irish potatoes (that the company received) as we
could eat. We left the very next morning after the
night Mr. Christman arrived. The first day we
marched about 14 miles and camped in an open field,
the next day we march all day until dark. We
stopped, ate our supper, spread our blankets and was
just going to sleep, nearly every man exhausted, when
the drum sounded and the order given for every man
to be under arms. In ten minutes the brigade marched
off and we continued the march until nearly day. The
next morning, that is those that kept up, (the road for
ten miles was strewn with men who had fallen out of
ranks from exhaustion). We are now encamped at
the place we arrived at that night. We have been here
three days and it is impossible to tell when we will
leave. This is a very important position for the Aides
of General Jackson. The Yankees are about twelve
miles from us and it was supposed that they would
make an attack at this point, is the reason we were in
such a hurry to get here that night. We would have
made a very poor stand if they had. I don't suppose
we had more than one third of the men when we
arrived here that night, when we came through Richmond.
I had a very good opportunity of judging as
our company was detailed that day as a war guard
of the Brigade, to prevent straggling, and I marched
behind with them for company. It's no use trying to
make a broken down man get up and march. We
didn't know but what the Yankees were near or advancing
on us, but the men would lie right down side of
the road and swear they could not go one foot farther,
Yankees or no Yankees. They are still coming
in though it has been three days ago.
You may say what you please about marching
twenty or thirty miles a day in warm weather, but I
don't believe in it. The last day we marched twenty-six
miles, we started at daylight and didn't stop until
nearly day break the next morning, with about one
third of the men, when we got to the end of our route,
we had when we started and they were good for nothing,
with their feet all blistered and sore. Mine have
just got so I can walk without limping. You may
direct your next letter to Richmond as heretofore, putting
on the back "Smith's Division," and I reckon it
will be forwarded. We have a very pleasant place to
camp. I wouldn't care if we were to stay here for a
month. General Anderson and his Staff are in tents
at present, no house being near. Col. Grimes arrived
this morning. The men are all very glad to see him
return. They all love him since the fights that he has
led them in. Give my love to all the family. Tell
sister to write. I have writen, I believe, three letters
home and haven't received but one.
Your affectionate son,
HEAD QUARTERS, ANDERSON'S BRIGADE,
My Dear Mother:
I guess you are all very anxious about me, that is to
know my whereabouts. Since I last wrote you I have been
through the most hardships that I ever have before. Today
makes eleven successive days that we have been on the
march, without resting a day since we left Anderson's
station, the place from which I last wrote you. We are
now on the side south of the Potomac, opposite a place
called Berlin, where there is some Yankees, don't know
how many. We have our brigade and a tolerable good
force of Artillery at this point. What we intend to do or
where we are going, it's impossible to say. The men are all
very anxious to drop over into Maryland and I don't know
but what that will be our next move. We have just stopped
for the night, after a march of about twenty miles. I'm in a
hurry to finish before dark, as we have no candles or
lightwood. Mr. Ed Marsh will leave for North Carolina in
the morning, he will carry our mail. We haven't had a
chance to send off our mail before, since we waded the
Rapidan River. Day before yesterday we marched over
the battle ground that Jackson had his last fight on. All of
our men had been buried, but the Yankees lay just as they
were killed. I never saw such a scene before. I saw just
from the road, as I did not go out of my way to see any
more. It must have been nearly a thousand. Our wagon
actually ran over the dead bodies in the
road before they would throw them out, or go around
them. The trees were literally shot all to pieces. The
wounded Yankees were all over the woods, in squads of
a dozen or more, under some shady tree without any
quard
of any kind to guard them. I recollect one squad
on
the side of the road with their bush shelter in ten steps of
a dead Yankee, that had not been buried and was horribly
mangled. I don't suppose the dead Yankees of that fight
will ever be buried. It will be an awful job to those who do
it, if it is ever done. There is some five or six of our
company that have not come up yet. Blake is among the
number. They are not sick, merely broken down. The
Second N. C. Regiment haven't more than half of the
men with them now, that they had when they left
Richmond. It has been an awfully hard march. Two men
died in one day from sun stroke. The weather is not so
warm now as some days ago. It takes two or three
blankets to keep us warm at night, it is so cool. The days
are very warm. I hope to gracious that we will stay here
tomorrow and rest a while, it's a beautiful place on the
side of the Blue Ridge. The sun will not strike the ground
where our headquarters are during the whole day. I don't
know where to tell you to direct your next letter.
Richmond, though, I reckon. Give my love to all the
family. Goodbye. I'll now cook my supper. I'll have an
excellent one tonight, chicken, and sugar and coffee and
biscuit.
Yours, etc.,
I bought sugar at 12 1/2c per pound and coffee at 25c
pound this morning in a store on our way.
HEAD QUARTER'S ANDERSON'S BRIGADE,
My Dear Mother:
It
has been some time since I last wrote you. I
hope you have not been uneasy about me, for I have
never been in better health in my life. During the
past two months we have been on the march almost
constantly, sometimes resting one or two days, but
never longer.
On Sunday, the 14th of September, we left our camp
at 4 o'clock in the morning and marched some six
miles to the top of the Blue Ridge and drew up in
line of battle. We were not long waiting for the
Yankees, they came in very large columns and we
fought until after dark. That night our troops fell
back through Boonsboro some few miles and drew up
in line of battle little after sunrise, very little fighting
was done on that day, only some cannonading. We
continued in our position until the 17th inst., when
we had almost a general engagement. The line of
battle of our Brigade was some two hundred yards in
front of a house in which General D. H. Hill and
General Anderson had their Head Quarters. The
fight commenced in the morning before I awoke (long
before sunrise), soon after light the wounded from the
Artillery commenced coming in, pretty soon the
wounded infantry came in by the dozens. There
wasn't a surgeon on the battle field from our Brigade,
but Gus Stith. He stayed there to the last. He, his
two assistants and myself dressed the wounds until
the Yankees got in 30 yards of the house. General
Anderson was anxious to get off before the Yankees
got nearer. He did not want to be taken prisoner by
them. He would prefer being shot through the head,
so Capt. Gales, his A. A. General, myself and two
other men of the Ambulance Corps carried him
through a field that looked like it was impossible for
man to walk ten steps without being killed, though we
got out safe. A piece of shell struck me on the knee,
which occasioned some little inconvenience for a few
days, but nothing else. The house in which we were
was the hottest part of the battle field, we were exposed
to a cross fire of two Yankee Batteries and from the
front by musket balls. The house, kitchen, trees and
everything else was torn and shot all to pieces. We
had a large pot full of chicken on the stove, cooking
for dinner, when a bomb took off one-half of the
kitchen and turned the stove bottom upwards. That
stopped the splendid dinner we had in preparation.
You must get Gus Stith to tell you all about our campaign,
adventures, etc. He can do it better than I
can write it. Every day's march through Maryland
I could write a long letter, but when it is all past and
forgotten I can't think of one thing that I wished to
write. If I ever live to get home I can think of one
thing at a time, and tell you a great many little incidents
of interest. The Northern part of Virginia and
some parts of Maryland is the most beautiful country
that I ever saw. I don't know how it is in the winter,
but from the looks of the soil, it's as muddy as Manassas,
I reckon. We (our company) lost several in
the two battles, none killed, but some badly wounded,
others taken prisoners or have not come up yet, may
be wounded and left on the battlefield and had to be
left in the hands of the Yankees when we fell back
this side of the Potomac. We are now encamped on
the Turnpike from Martinsburg to Winchester, some
ten miles from the latter place.
I don't know where to tell you to direct your next
letter, Richmond, though, I reckon. Our mail for this
Brigade is at Winchester, we will get that to-day. I
hope to get some letters from home when it comes. I
must close this so as to have it ready when Gus Stith
starts, he can't tell when, so I must have it ready. I
may get something in the mail before this gets off.
Your loving son,
NEAR BUNKER HILL, VA., October 1st, 1862.
Dear Mother:
I have
just received a letter from you, dated Sept.
2nd. It is the first word I have heard from home since
I left Richmond (I forgot I did receive one letter down
at Anderson's station, 30 miles from Richmond). It
appears that you have not received the letter I wrote
from the Potomac, opposite Berlin, though you must
have gotten it before now. I heard that Pat Simms
will be in Wilson for a short time as detail for our
winter clothing. He can tell you all about that trip.
It has been so long that I have forgotten almost all
about it. I shall send this by Dr. Stith, as he starts in
the morning. You can get him to tell you a good deal
of news if you choose. Dr. Stith and Pat Wooten
came up this morning. I haven't been up to see them
yet. I must sleep and stay at head quarters nearly all
the time, as it is more convenient and I get plenty of
something to eat, and often something extra. If Pat
Simms goes home, as I think he will, you may send
me my two flannel shirts and my drawers, also two
pair of woolen socks. I reckon I will have to make
out with shoes this winter, though if you can have
me a good pair of winter sewed boots made (large 6s)
you may send them also, and the price. If I can't
wear them myself I can sell them for any price I may
choose to ask. See if Pat is willing to bring them
first and if he is certain that he can get them here without
being lost. Write often by some of the boys that
are coming.
Your affectionate son,
HEAD QUARTERS, ANDERSON'S BRIGADE,
My Dear Mother:
As
I have another good opportunity of sending a
letter the other side of Richmond to be mailed, I
thought I would avail myself of it. One of our surgeons
will leave in the morning for North Carolina, so
that I can have my letter mailed very near home, it
will stand less chance of being lost. I have neglected
to write to you longer than I wished, waiting for an
opportunity of sending it by some one. This is the
first chance that has occurred. The letters that are
mailed here for North Carolina, not one half of them
ever get there, so I made up my mind not to write except
when I knew you would receive it. We have
been through a good many hardships since I last wrote
to you, tho' we haven't had any fighting, that is, our
Brigade has not, tho' we have lain in line of battle
several days and nights at the time, waiting for the
advance of the enemy. The strongest position I think
our Division ever occupied was on the mountains behind
rock fences, near Paris. We stayed there one
day and night, but the Yankees didn't come. We left
there and marched to Fort Royal, there we laid in line
of battle two days and one night. Little after dark
the second day we got orders to cross the Shenandoah
River and take up camp some mile or two off for the
night. The men were cold and hungry and somewhat
expecting the Yankees that night, when the word
was given they started at a double quick for the river,
some half mile off, and in they went, half waist
deep, the water was freezing cold and the wind almost
cutting you in two. I guess you know something about
the mountain winds in the winter. For the next few
days we had some rest, but we don't lie idle in camp
long at a time. Night before last we marched seven
miles, tore up and burned railroads all night, and
marched back ten miles the next day. To-day is a
beautiful sunshiny one, and I hope we will remain
quiet for the men's sake. We have had one snow some
two or three inches deep, though it melted very soon,
there are thousands of barefooted men in Virginia and
I do hope we will have pleasant weather until they
can get shoes. We have a good many in our Brigade
stark barefooted, and have not had a shoe on since
we left Richmond some months ago. John Burton,
poor fellow, was paroled and came up with us some
week or two back, looking dreadfully. He has gone
home on a furlough. He was barefooted and almost
clothesless. My feet can just be said to be off the ground
and that is all. They are no protection from wet
weather. I hope Pat Simms will come soon and have
my boots with him. I am glad you sent me a pair
of pants, as these are entirely worn out. I have
been patching them up for some time. There is two
big patches on the knees as large as your two hands,
put on with blue cloth, you recollect the pants are
brown. I never thought to mention any clothes in
my letter. I hope you thought of them. I need a
pair. I also need an overcoat, but I will have to wait
until the Regiment get their clothes before I can get
one. I hope before one month more passes we will
be on the railroad somewhere, so I can get something
good to eat once more. I think I will know how to
appreciate something good after living on beef and
bread for so long. I want some oysters and sweet
potatoes and other winter delicacies so much. I hope,
if we ever do get where I can change my diet, I will
be able to stop the diarrhoea which has been reducing
me for some time. I've fallen off considerable since
we left Richmond. With that exception I have nothing
to complain of. In a great many respects I fare
a great deal better than the officers of the regiment
do. I have better fare and not half the duty to do.
The other night, when all the men were at work on
the railroad, I was with our wagon and had as comfortable
a night's sleep as I ever do. I very often get
a chance to ride on the march, too, for the last several
marches I have ridden Col. Grimes' extra horse.
Since we left Richmond we have crossed twenty
streams waist deep and very often in the night, and
I have never waded one yet. I always get a ride
across, some way or another.
We will
have a general change at Headquarters in
a few days. General Ramseur is assigned to this
Brigade and I expect he will bring his own Staff with
him. I'll stand as good a chance of remaining as any
of them and I think I will be very apt to remain, at
least I shall try to do so. I hope he will be as clever
as the other commanders have been. I like Col.
Grimes very much and I think he is more entitled to
the promotion of Brigadier than Ramseur, who was
only a Captain of Artillery, though they say he is a
West Pointer, and a very good officer. I hope he will
prove himself to be as good as General Anderson was,
though that is hardly possible. I don't think he had
his equal in the Confederate Army. I hope Dr. Harrell
will pass his examination and get in the army as
surgeon. It is the easiest and most comfortable position
there is in the Army.
Tell Mr.
Rhodes if I was in his place I would try
and get in a new company, one that has not been in
long. Dr. Bullock's Company would suit him better
than any other. He thinks that we've got a good one
and a picket company, but it is not what it was, and he
would be out of place all the time if he would try to
keep up with men who had been playing the old soldier
for nearly two years. I would rather be dead than
in the place of some of the Conscripts sent to our
Regiment, they look like they wanted to die, they felt
so bad. Please let me know in your next whether
you ever received my watch or not. I've asked in
every letter and you've never told me yet. Write soon
to your
Affectionate son,
Give my love to all the family, tell some of them to
write. I haven't sent a letter home yet with a stamp
on it, it is because we can't possibly get them and I
know it makes no difference with you.
HEADQUARTERS FOURTH BRIGADE.
My Dear Mother:
I
received your letter yesterday, and also one from
brother by Mr. Gorman. I was very glad to hear
from you, as I had not received any news from home
in some time. He handed me the gloves also, which
you sent by him. Nothing ever came in better time
in the world. I had been trying my best to get a pair
of some kind ever since cold weather set in, but could
not, gloves such as you sent me sell for $3.00 in this
country, and everything else in proportion. The last
letter that I wrote home, sent to Richmond by Capt.
John Grimes to be mailed, was from our Camp near
Strasburg, Va. We left there on Friday, the 21st,
and arrived here on Tuesday evening, the 25th, making
a march of over one hundred miles in four days.
It is the best marching that we have ever done, it's
because we are going towards home, I reckon, that
the men did so well. There are hundreds of them
barefooted and ice on the ground all day. General
Hill issued an order yesterday requiring all the barefooted
men to make sandals of raw hides with the
hair on the inside. It answers the purpose very well.
It's a wonder the idea had not been thought of sooner,
before the men suffered so much. Gorman says that
Pat Simms will be here to-day with the things for the
Regiment. I hope he will be, for I need my boots very
badly, also my pants. I shall draw a pair of pants
from the Regimental clothing, also a pair of shoes.
I bought me a Yankee overcoat, a very comfortable
one, for $12.50, a better coat than our men draw at
more money. We are now on our way to Hanover
Junction, some fifty miles off. We have stopped here
to transport our sick on the cars ahead of us, though
we have been here going on two days, a longer time
than would be required for that purpose. We have no
idea how long we will stay here. From what you write
about your exchanging farms, I think you made a
very good bargain. I wish I could be with you to
help you fix it up. The boys are all well as could be
expected. Virgil Stevens looks thin from diarrhoea.
Tom Stith looks as fat as a pig. Buck Hansill is the
same old "Buck," though Marshbourns, that is Sam, is
well and tough, Jim I don't recollect having seen for
some time. I really don't know whether he is in the
company or not. I did write to you and intended to
send it by Ed Gordon, but he left just before I carried
my letters up to the Company to give him. The
next time any one leaves Wilson for the Company,
please send me some kind of tonic bitters. I need
something of the kind.
Give my
love to all, and believe me as ever,
Your affectionate son,
HEAD QUARTERS FOURTH BRIGADE,
My Dear Mother:
bring the things, why doesn't he let some one else
come with them. The men have been kept out of their
clothing long enough. May Warren, I understand, is
willing to bring them. If you should receive this before
any of them leaves, please send my watch and
chain by him, I need the use of it very much and I
don't think there is any danger of my losing it or being
killed this winter or fall, campaign is about over. If
both of them have left, please send it by the first
reliable person coming to our company. Please have
a key fitted to it and send that also, also a piece of
buckskin in my trunk. Wrap them all up together
and enjoin the one that brings it to be very careful
with it, and not to lose it. I have not time to write
much more, as Major Miller, who is going to take my
letter to Richmond to be mailed, is in a hurry to go
to the depot, for fear of being left. I received the
things which you sent by Buck Hansill, also the gloves
you sent by John Gorman, all I need now are the things
which you are going to send by Pat Simms. Give my
love to all the family and believe me, as ever, your
Affectionate son,
P. S. Write often and tell me all the news about
home. Wrap my watch up very securely and direct
it to me. Don't forget to send me a key for it, as I
have none.
WILLIAMSPORT, MD., July 8, 1863.
My Dear Mother:
The
Fourth of July we got in eight miles of the battlefield,
all that day the citizens tried their best to prevent
our going any farther. Told us we were certainly
gone chickens if we went any farther, that the Yankees
were on picket some little distance off in large
force. We didn't put any confidence in their chat but
kept on. The last day of the three days' big fight, we
got within a few miles of the battlefield, when we met
General Imboden's Cavalry, the advance guard of our
whole wagon train, who turned us back by orders from
General Lee, ordering us at the same time to keep with
the train, which did not stop until we arrived at this
place, we (the wagon train) intended to ford the river
here and again set foot on Virginia soil, but it has
rained so much we have been waiting four days for
the river to fall low enough to ford it. The Yankees
attacked us here day before yesterday with the intention
of capturing us, but they were driven off. I can't
form the most distant idea what the army is going
to do, whether they intend to stay this side of the river
or go back into Virginia. There is not a day passes
but you hear of fighting going on. You don't feel
right unless you hear cannonading going on. The
stillness doesn't seem natural. There are five or six
thousand Yankees here waiting for the river to fall
to cross.
When I
have more time I will write again. Captain
Thompson was wounded slightly and has crossed the
river, I don't know with what intention. Buck Nolly
was killed in our company.
Write
to me as soon as you get this and let me
hear from you all, direct to Richmond and I will get
it. This letter is No. 3.
WALTER.
CAMP NEAR ORANGE C. H., August 2nd, 1863.
My Dear Mother:
miles yesterday through the hottest sun that I
ever felt. The men were constantly dropping out
from overheat, and one or two died from the effects.
We are in camp to-day, but have orders to hold ourselves
in readiness to move at a moment's notice. The
report is the Yankees are advancing on Culpepper. I
guess we will leave here tonight or before day in the
morning. This army is seeing a very hard time at
present. Nothing to eat but beef and flour and the
hardest marching that this army has ever done. At
the time we crossed the mountains at Fort Royal, we
marched from 4 o'clock one morning until day break
next morning. We were drawn up in line of battle
twice during the time, once we had a very sharp fight
between our sharpshooters and the Yankees. Our
Brigade was in line on an edge of a mountain overlooking
the whole scene. I don't think it will be long
before we shall have a fight, from our present movements.
I thought I told you in the letter I wrote from
near Hargerstown, while in line, that I was with the
Regiment. You must have missed getting that letter.
This makes the fifth I have written since I left home.
When I got with the regiment everything had so much
changed at headquarters, new men detailed, and my
not knowing any of them, I concluded to go back with
the company. I have been doing duty with the Company
ever since I got back and I believe I feel better
satisfied. Jim Gay got back to the regiment this morning,
left Wilson last Wednesday. He has told us all
about the Yankee raid.
I have been suffering some little from pain in the
feet, caused by hard marching. The doctor told me
yesterday that I might put my things in the ambulance.
At night when I went after them, some one
had stolen my knapsack with all my clothes, except
what I have on, and my shawl. I'll try and make out
with what I have until cold weather comes on. You
may send me two pair cotton and two pair woolen
socks the first opportunity you have. That will be
the first thing that I will need. Dossey came over to
see me this morning and read a letter to me that he
got from Cousin Claudia yesterday.
There is some
little talk sometimes of our Brigade
being ordered to North Carolina. I wish to gracious we
could be. I'll bet the Yankees wouldn't cut up there
like they have been. To-day is Sunday and one of
the hottest that I ever felt. We are in a piece of woods
where there isn't one breath of air stirring. If we
do have to march to-day, half of the men will give
out from overheat. I would much rather march two
nights than one day. You may send me that homespun
shirt in my trunk, at the same time you do the
socks - that checked one. I hope the authorities will
send some troops home to prevent the Yankees
from making a raid through there. Write whenever
there is anything to tell me about home and you all.
Your affectionate son,
CAMP ON RAPIDAN RIVER, SIX MILES
My Dear Mother:
If you do not have any use for that map of
Virginia, which you bought last winter, please loan it to
me; send it by Thompson. I will take good care of it
and return it.
In times
like this, one blanket is as much as any man
wants hung to him, and nine times out of ten he throws
that one away during the fight. As soon as we go
into camp again I shall have plenty of bedding. When
Dr. Thompson comes back, I wish you would send my
overcoat. I think I shall need it by then, also one pair
of woolen socks. The flannel drawers you may keep
until we go into camp. I have no way of carrying
them. I never intend to carry another knapsack on
my back, as long as I stay in the service. John Valentine
brought the things you sent by him. The shirt
fits exactly. You need not trouble about making the
other in any hurry. I shall not need it until we go
in camp.
Henry
Warren came to us yesterday morning. The
bag of potatoes which he brought could not have come
in a better time. It was a rich treat, I assure you.
We have been lying in line of battle two or three days,
living on half cooked rations sent from the wagon
yard, and to get a bag of sweet potatoes was a perfect
Godsend. We just set around the fire and roasted
them last night and talked of the good things at home
for a late hour. Tom Stith, Tom Atkinson, Peter
Christman and myself compose our mess and whatever
either gets, he shares it with the rest. Tom Stith
has a trunk of things at Orange Court House,
that Henry had to leave, as he had to take
it afoot to where he found us; his boy
brought my potatoes. Tell sister that I will
write to her soon. I should have written this
time, but couldn't get the paper. It took me half an
hour to borrow this half sheet. You need not look
for me home on a furlough for a long time yet; there
are men in the camp that haven't been home since we
came to Virginia. You know I have been home twice.
It will be a long time before my time comes around.
The next furlough, I expect, will be a wounded or
sick one.
Give my
love to all the family and believe me as
ever,
Your affectionate son,
CAMP NEAR MORTON'S FORD,
My Dear Mother:
General Ramseur's orders. Battle's Brigade (Alabama
troops) talk and exchange papers with them
every day. They join our line above the ford. When
we first went on picket at the river we could hear the
Yankees' drums by the hundred. They stopped all
at once and we did not hear more than two or three
for a whole week. Yesterday morning they opened
with their drums again and from the number it would
seem that they have a large army across the river. I
think they tried to make us believe they had left, but
they can't fool General Lee. We have had orders
for a week or more to keep two days' rations cooked
and be ready to move at a moment's notice. I don't
think that we shall remain much longer at this camp.
Some
half-dozen cannons were heard up the river
yesterday. I suppose they were signal guns. A pretty
good sign of a movement. I hope we will soon do
all the fighting that we expect to do this winter, and
let us go into winter quarters. The orderly has just
come around with orders to be in readiness to move,
as the Yankees are advancing and we may probably
leave this evening. All the preparation that I have
to make is to look up our day's rations of bread. As
soon as we go into camp to stay any length of time,
I shall be glad to get my flannel drawers. I will let
you know. I hope Dr. Thompson will be well enough
to come when his furlough is out, and bring my overcoat,
also a pair of socks, gloves (if you can find them)
and a little box of lip salve. Tom Stith was waiting
about a week before he got his things, which Henry
Warren brought. He had to leave them at Orange
Court House, as he had to foot it about
eighteen miles. Col. Grimes got back a few
days ago from North Carolina. He was married
while home and he is now a candidate
for congress, and I think he will probably be
elected. I would like very much to be at home with
you to eat some of that nice fruit which you have.
Peaches here in camp sell for $2.00 per dozen, so we
can't afford to eat as many as we want at that price,
or it would take a month's wages to pay for the treat.
Blake said for me to tell you to please tell Mr. Rhodes
to send him thirty dollars by Thompson, if this reaches
you in time; if not, send it by mail. Tom Stith says
to tell some of his folks not to send him any blanket
as yet. He will let them know.
I
am enjoying excellent health at present. Sometimes
I am troubled with diarrhoea, but I generally
stop it by quit eating beef for a few days. Next
time you write to Pussy, give her my best love and
tell her I would like so much to see her. Give my
love to all the family, and believe me, your sincere
and devoted son,
WALTER.
Much obliged for the paper and envelopes.
ON MARCH NEAR RAPPAHANNOCK
My Dear Mother:
Rapidan about the 7th inst., and have been on the
march ever since, and I believe it has been the hardest
for the length of time that we have ever had. It was
what might be termed a "flank movement" in every
sense of the word. We marched through woods, fields
and across branches, creeks and rivers as we came to
them, only a few hours behind the Yankees all the
time. Last Thursday we were drawn up in line of
battle before day and our Division, with our sharpshooters
in front, drove the Yankees through the
woods and fields for two or three miles. Our sharpshooters
killed and wounded a great many. Our Brigade
took thirty or forty prisoners. A day or two before
that we surprised a corps of Yankees in camp,
hurrying them off rather unceremoniously. We all
got our haversacks filled with crackers, which we very
much needed, though we haven't suffered for anything
to eat on the march. Gen. Ramsieur is very attentive
to his men in that respect. Day before yesterday we
were in four miles of Manassas. I did wish that we
might go that far. I wanted to see the old place so
much.
The
rumor in camp is that Gen. Lee has accomplished
everything he intended, that is, to drive the
Yankees back and tear up this railroad, which we are
doing to perfection; but for the grading and bent iron
you would not know that there ever was a railroad
along here. We cut down the telegraph wire also,
and carried that along with us. We stopped on the
march to-day, about 10 o'clock, after marching about
eight miles. What it is for, I can't tell. I suppose
something is the matter with the road ahead, or probably
the bridge across the Rappahannock needs repairing.
It is now 4 o'clock. I expect we shall move
nearer the river to camp, however it does not make
much difference where we stop, as we have rations up
till tomorrow evening. I wish you could have seen
us cooking up three days' rations the other night, before
attacking the Yankees the next day. We have
flour and beef to cook and only about half the night
to cook them in, without cooking utensils. We made
up our dough on our gun cloths and cooked it on barrel
staves and heads. You would be surprised to see
how nice bread can be cooked on a ram rod. I think
it is the sweetest bread that I ever ate. I think there
must be something in the appetite also. Our beef we
broiled on griddle irons made of telegraph wire. I
think I was the first in our regiment to make one; since
then nearly every man has one along with him. Col.
Grimes detailed a blacksmith and sent him to me to
get mine to make him one like it. He said it was the
most useful thing he had seen. We cook bread on
them also. Speaking of Col. Grimes, he just received
a furlough to-day, and will leave for North Carolina
in a few days. Dr. Thompson has not arrived yet,
nor have we heard from him. I think the fall campaign
is about over and I hope we will go into winter
quarters somewhere on the railroad. I do want some
sweet potatoes so much. Give my love to all the
family, and believe me as ever,
Your devoted son,
P. S. I am truly glad that Dr. Harrell has got a
position as surgeon. I hope he will be pleasantly situated.
Please look in the watch pocket of my black
satin vest, get my lip salve box, fill it with salve and
send it in your next letter. This mountain wind keeps
my lips split all to pieces. Tell Mr. Rhodes, Blake says
he got the $30.00 safely; much obliged to him. I
believe I will send you a Yankee letter that I picked
up the other day in the woods while we were pursuing
them. I don't think peace is so near at hand as he
does.
Much obliged for this envelope and paper, you got
an answer sooner than you otherwise would, there is
no suttler along with us and none of the boys carry
such things with them, they cost so much, and the
first rain would ruin them.
CAMP NEAR MORTON'S FORD, VA.,
My Dear Mother:
We had just drawn a large supply of winter clothing
of every kind, and the men were just trying them
on when we were ordered to fall in, which we did in
double quick time, making for the river line of battle
with our sharpshooters in front. 'Twas not long before
we came on their skirmishers and a brisk fire
commenced, which lasted until dark. Our two lines of
battle laid within speaking distance until 12 o'clock that
night, when we were very quietly withdrawn, half
hour afterwards our sharpshooters followed and we
took up our line of march till sun rise, when we were
drawn up in line of battle, we stayed until two or three
o'clock. The Yankees not coming on us, we started
on the march again and never stopped till we crossed
the Rapidan. We ate our breakfast Saturday morning
in our winter quarters and did not draw a single
mouthful to eat, or have any rest except when we were
in line of battle (and then we were hard at work
throwing up breastworks), until Monday night, ten
o'clock. We waded the Rapidan about 9 o'clock the
same night. I think it was the hardest time we have
ever had, nothing to eat, accompanied with the hardest
marching we ever did. All of our things
were left in our winter quarters, expecting to go
back there, but we did not, so we lost a good many
things which we left behind. I happened to take my
shawl and oil cloth along with me, which I saved. I
lost my two blankets, a pair of cotton drawers, pair of
socks, which I had just drawn (I did not draw anything
else of the new clothing, which I am glad of,
for I should have lost them). I also lost my knapsack,
tin plate, tin cup, etc. I saved my overcoat, with all
the things you sent by Condon. That scrape has
taught me a lesson. I'll bet I never leave anything else
of mine behind. I don't care where we are ordered to.
Try and
get Tom Stith to put the following things
in with his own baggage: That worsted shirt, flannel
shirt, flannel drawers, two pair socks, please send me
a comb, coarse one, also a towel. Tom Stith will be
judge of what he can bring besides those things. Tell
him we are at the same camp that Henry Warren came
to us at. If I have time I will write to him tomorrow.
We have just as much to do now as we can attend to.
We are on picket every third night (Nov. 12). We
moved camp this morning about half mile nearer our
picket line. Cannonading is occasionally heard on the
other side of the river. I don't know what we will
be doing, or where we will be tomorrow this time. I
am perfectly willing for the Yankees to cross here,
for I think we will whip them worse than we ever did
at Fredricksburg. I shall be on picket tonight. I've
got to go to work and get something to eat to carry
with me. Give my love to all. As ever,
Your sincere and devoted son,
CAMP NEAR MORTON'S FORD, VA.,
My Dear Mother:
safe. We left this place to-day was one week ago.
That night at 3 o'clock we left and went down the
river towards Germania Ford, where the Yankees
have crossed in heavy force. We got there late in
the evening, and had some very sharp skirmishes with
them before night. We were in line of battle all
night; just before day we fell back a short distance
and established our line of battle and commenced
throwing up our breastworks in the coldest kind of
a rain. We were in an old field on top of a hill, where
the wind came with all its fury. The smoke from our
fires was almost enough to kill a man. We were in
that condition, expecting an attack by the Yankees
day or night. We have to keep all of our things on all
the time and one-half of the men up all night, in case
of an attack. Yesterday morning we commenced moving
about 2 o'clock, and at daylight we discovered that
the Yankees had retreated across the river. Our
Brigade was ordered to the front and we commenced
the pursuit. We pretty soon commenced taking a few
stragglers and by ten o'clock we have taken (from
the looks of them as passed them on the road this
morning) three or four hundred. They were the poorest
Yankees I ever saw. They did not have one mouthful
to eat and said they had not had any in four days.
They stated as an excuse that our cavalry had captured
their wagons. Several of them offered me $2.00
a piece for crackers, but I told them we were rationed
up for two days and I could eat everything in my haversack
in one, so I could not spare them. I told them
that they would draw something to eat pretty soon.
One of them gave me his knapsack and everything in it
and then very politely asked me if I could spare him a
cracker. I could not refuse him, for the things that he
gave me unsolicited were very valuable. A pair of new
shoes and a Yankee tent are things that money will not
buy. I would not take $25.00 for my tent which he gave
me. They are large enough for two, and so light that you
can roll them in your knapsack and not feel the weight at
all. I could have gotten more little Yankee camp
conveniences than I could carry, but we were then in line
of battle, charging through the woods and I did not wish to
bungle myself up too much. I do not know how long we
shall stay here, but it's my opinion, not long. I hope it will
be long enough for us to get rested and recruited again
before we set out for another march. Tom Stith brought
all the things which you sent by him, including the letters. I
am too tired and worn out to write an interesting letter. I
merely wrote to set your mind at ease. As soon as I can
cook something I shall try and go to sleep. I haven't slept
more than an hour at any time for nearly a week. My love
to all. Write soon to your
Sincere and affectionate son,
CAMP IN WINTER QUARTERS, NEAR ORANG
My Dear Mother:
got here to-day (Sunday) week. We got back from picket
last night, having spent one week on the banks of the
Rapidan. We had two snows during the time, each one
two or three inches deep. Though we did not suffer as
one would suppose, who does not know how to fix up.
My little Yankee tent came into requisition, so did my
visor; you can't imagine the comfort there is in it while
exposed to cold north winds. I thought I had written to
you how I liked it. I used to think I wouldn't wear one,
now I wouldn't be without it for anything. You say you
wish I was in the office again. I do not. Though I was
never allowanced while there for something to eat, there
were other things equally as disagreeable. I get enough to
eat now, but none to waste and I feel much better
satisfied. Our meat has been cut down to a quarter of a
pound and they give us sugar, coffee, rice and sometimes
dried fruit. We eat up everything they give us and feel
hungry all the time. When they only give us a quarter of a
pound of meat and a tin cupful of flour, it is not enough
for a hearty man, but when they give us rice, peas, etc.,
we can make out very well. Peter Christman got a letter
from his father yesterday, saying he was going to start
with a load of boxes to-day (Sunday) week. I suppose he
will come in May Warren's place. I need not tell you what
to send me, for I know you will be certain to send me as
much as I could ask for. I don't wish for you to send me
anything that is scarce or high priced. Let it be something
that you have a plenty of, so that you will not miss it. The
things that you sent by Mixson came in
a very good time. He sent me some meat and potatoes
while on picket. You can send me a little of that
nice meal, if you have it to spare. You need not send
any sage, just send a few pods of red peppers to boil
with beef once in a while, when we draw it. I don't
suppose we shall draw much more beef until next
Spring. Please don't forget to send a small case knife,
a fig stem for pipe, the size of your middle finger,
about six inches long.
I am
very well supplied with winter clothing of
every kind at present. Just drawn a splendid pair of
English shoes. The trip down the river cut my
others all to pieces. I did want to send a pair of English
shoes to brother, but it seems that I can't get ahead
so that I can do so. If we didn't have any picket duty
to do this winter, we should be just as comfortable as
I could wish. But we have to go eight miles off every
fifth week and spend the time out doors, don't make
any difference what kind of weather it is. I don't
suppose we shall have to go more than two or three
times, though before we shall start on our next
Spring's campaign, wherever that may be. Tell Bob to
write whenever you do and let me know how he is
getting along himself. Give my love to all the family,
also to Puss whenever you write to her. Write as soon
as is convenient and believe me, as ever,
Your sincere and affectionate son,
CAMP FOURTH NORTH CAROLINA REG'T.,
My Dear Folks:
You can't
tell how I prize that middling of meat.
It came in the very nick of time. I had just finished
the ham and sausages which you sent by Nixson. The
things which you have sent me will last me several
weeks; with what I draw will give me just as much
as I want by mixing rations. You don't know how
selfish men become by soldiering two or three years.
Two years ago when one received a box from home
he was expected to ask the whole company up and tell
them to help themselves, but that custom has played
out. Now when a fellow buys anything or has anything
sent him from home, the rest of the company
don't expect to be asked to help themselves. Whoever
one is messing with he is all that expects to share it
with him; the whole company is messed off in pairs
to suit themselves. I have been messing with Lang
Mixson since we left Morton's Ford. He is the best
messmate I have ever had. I will never mess with
more than one at a time again. When two are together
it enables them to cook and draw the rations for each
other, when either is on duty. Mr. Winstead, our
orderly, will leave in the morning for home. I shall
send this by Wm. Barnes, who will leave with Mr.
Christman. Give my love to all.
Yours,
CAMP NEAR ORANGE COURT HOUSE, VA.,
Dear Mother:
Next
morning, Sunday, Peter Christman and myself
rolled up our things and by daylight were on our
way to the breastworks. When we got there our army
was lying in our breastworks and the Yankees were
scattered all over the fields about a half-mile the other
side of the river. All their cannons were in position
and remained so during the day. There were two lines
of artillery just the right distance from each other to
do the best execution, frowning at each other the whole
day, neither willing or inclined to commence the fight
across the river.
Last night
about ten o'clock, their camp fires all
died out and this morning the Yankees were all gone,
except their line of pickets.
We pretty
soon started back to camp and got here
an hour ago, and I am in hopes they will not trouble
us any more this winter. The mountains in Yankeedom
were covered with snow this morning. I am in
hopes we will have some shortly to put an end to all
military operations for this winter. I will write again
in a day or two. I am as tired as a horse at present,
a tramp of ten miles through the mud ankle deep is
enough to tire a mule. Give love to all.
As ever, your devoted son,
CAMP, FOURTH N. C., NEAR ORANGE COURT HOUSE,
My Dear Mother:
want of time. Our Brigade has about one mile of
plank road to ditch and grade and there is a very
heavy detail from the Regiment every day. The whole
regiment is on duty every day and will be for eight
or ten days more. Those that are not on guard are
at work on the roads. I came off guard this morning
and will be on fatigue duty tomorrow until we make
some move. We got orders this morning to cook up
two days' rations and keep it on hand until further
orders. I can't imagine what it is for. We have had
so much nice weather for the past week or two. I
think our General anticipates an attack. I don't like
the idea of leaving our winter quarters this time of
the year. We are bound to have some very severe
weather yet. The day Cullen left, it snowed about two
or three inches deep, and before the next day at 12
o'clock all traces of it had disappeared. It is warm
enough at present to be without a fire. All are busy
cooking up rations for fear we may have to leave. I
haven't cut the ham you sent by Cullen, yet, and I have
about half the middling which Mr. Christman brought
me. I have one or two potatoes left yet. If we stay here
until Spring, I think I shall have enough to last me.
If you have an opportunity, I should like to have about
a peck of peas. They go farther and do a man more
good than anything that I know of.
I
wish you would send my copy of Shakespeare; it's
a brown colored back, with my name in it. Wrap it
up and send it by May Warren, and ask him to give
it to Pat Wooten; he promised to bring it for me. The
needles you sent me are the very sizes I wanted. I
am very much obliged to you for them. You need
not send me any more paper and envelopes until I let
you know, as I have five or six on hand and I want
to use them up first. I have not received the letter
yet that General Battle undertook to deliver for sister.
His Brigade has been back for some week or more.
Give my love to all the family, and believe me, as ever,
Your sincere and affectionate son,
CAMP NEAR ORANGE C. H., March 29, 1864.
My Dear Mother:
Yesterday
there was a grand review of all the North
Carolina troops that is in this Corps, by Gov. Vance,
including the Cavalry. After the review the troops
were all arranged around a stage erected for the purpose
in the camp of the Thirtieth Regiment, and he
addressed them with a speech of three or four hours
length. He had the whole assembly in an uproar in
less than two minutes after he arose. He said it did
not sound right to him to address us as "Fellow Soldiers,"
because he was not one of us - he used to be
until he shirked out of the service for a little office
down in North Carolina, so now he would address us
as "Fellow Tar Heels," as we always stick.
I was in a
good place to hear every word that he
said, and I don't think I ever listened to a more able
speech of the kind in my life. It was very able and
deep, interspersed with anecdotes, illustration of his
subject, which kept the men from feeling fatigued.
The review took up some two hours, marching all
over the fields, and then we had to stand up all the
while the speech was being delivered. Nearly the
whole camp was there, in fact, there were thousands
that could not hear him from their distance. There
was some dozen or two ladies present. After Gov.
Vance got through, the crowd called for General Early.
He arose and spoke a short time, then General Rodes;
after he was through Gov. Vance arose again and said
he must talk a little more, too. He related two or
three anecdotes relative to the Yankee characters and
then retired amidst deafening "Rebel Yells." This
morning it's cold and has just commenced raining. I
think it will end in a snow. The last of the big snow
has gone. Clarke's mountain is covered yet. I forgot
to tell you that I received your letter night before last.
My love to all.
Believe me, as ever, yours, etc.
CAMP, WINTER QUARTERS, April 21st, 1864.
My Dear Sister:
Last
Tuesday the Yankees had a tremendous cannonading
going on for upwards of two hours. Just
across the river we could hear the balls flying through
the air also hear them explode. The most reasonable
supposition of the cause was that they were practicing
previous to their attacking us. We have a rumor today
that they have fallen back towards Centerville,
whether it be true or not, there were plenty of them
on the river this morning when we left. Col. Grimes
took our band down with us this time, and every night
they would get on a high bluff on the banks of the
river and give the Yankees a serenade, closing with
"Dixie" and the "Old North State." Sometimes one of their
bands would strike up in answer. The week before we
went down, there was a Yankee Sergeant deserted and
came over to us, reporting that Grant was to have
attacked us last Sunday morning. The whole picket force
were under arms that morning two hours before day
ready to receive him. I was on the outpost that night and
just before day, could not help from wishing that they
would come across and attack our breastworks. But
Sunday came and passed and everything remained quiet
on both sides.
The
man who told you we were suffering for bread
was mistaken. Our meat is very slim, though we make out
very well. As for bread we get more than we can eat.
There is not a man in our company who has not got him
a bag of extra meal, gradually increased from his daily
rations. We draw just as much sugar and coffee as we
could wish for. Meat is the only thing we are stinted with.
We have not drawn any beef or ham in a month or two.
We have (that is General Lee has) just received an
official telegram from North Carolina stating that Gen.
Hoke had captured sixteen hundred prisoners and twenty-five
pieces of cannon at Plymouth, that's cheering news
indeed, particularly from North Carolina. I hope
Washington and Newbern may fall likewise. My love to
all.
Your devoted brother,
- CAROLINE E. NORTON.
IN LINE OF BATTLE NEAR SPOTSYLVANIA
My Dear Folks:
we are as successful in the future as we thus far have
been, Grant may continue the battle for a month so
far as I care. In that time I don't think he will have
a single man left. His loss up to the present time is
estimated at seventy thousand. Our loss is comparatively
small, as we fought them most of the time in
our breastworks. Last Sunday is the first time our
brigade had any regular engagement with the enemy,
though we had charged them several times and run
them from their positions without firing a gun.
Last Sunday about 8 o'clock it was ascertained that
the Yankees had made a flank movement and were
making for Richmond by Spotsylvania Court House.
We were almost worn out with fatigue from marching
or loss of sleep when we started from this place
to front them. I don't think I ever saw a hotter day
in all my life. The men were fainting by the dozens,
and very frequently one would drop dead in his tracks
from overheat. The distance was about eighteen
miles. We had gotten in about six miles of the place,
when Gen. Ramseur rode down the line with a dispatch
from Gen. Longstreet stating that he had repulsed
the enemy with heavy loss, and that if the
troops could hold out to get there in time to meet
the second attack, in case the enemy made one, everything
would be right.
He appealed to his brigade to know if they would
go. The answer was a shout that we would. Some
of the men were so tired and worn out they could
hardly halloo. I was among that number, when in
about three miles of this place I was forced to drop
from overheat, and the brigade left me. I never hated
anything so bad in all my life before, so much as to
be left behind as then. The brigade had left about
an hour when I heard the enemy's cannon open. It
was like an electric shock to me, I bounced up and
determined to go or die. I threw away everything I
had but my gun and accoutrements, including three
days' rations that I had not tasted since drawing them
(without thinking where I was to get any more), and
caught up with the brigade in about fifteen minutes
before we charged the enemy and fought them until
after dark. Our loss this night was small. The night
was spent in building our breastworks.
Last Thursday though is the day that will be remembered
by both armies as long as one man is left to tell the tale.
At daylight they attacked the line a little
to our right, drove our men out of both lines of breastworks
and the result was hanging in the scales when
our brigade was taken from one position and moved
around in front of them. The stars and stripes were
floating proudly all along our works when the order
was given to "forward without firing." We commenced
moving up pretty briskly, when our men commenced
falling so fast, that the order was given to
"double quick." No sooner said than done. We
rushed forward with a yell and took the first line of
works like a flash. We remained there long enough
to fire a round or two and clear the way in front of
us, when the order came to charge the other. We
took that also with a large number of prisoners, then
the fight commenced in earnest. It was a continuous
charge and a war of musketry from that time, nine
o'clock, until three o'clock in the morning, when we
evacuated that line for another which had been established
and fortified during the night. There is not
a man in this brigade who will ever forget the sad
requiem, which those minie balls sung over the dead
and dying for twenty-two long hours; they put one
in mind of some musical instrument; some sounded
like wounded men crying; some like humming of bees;
some like cats in the depth of the night, while others
cut through the air with only a "Zip" like noise. I
know it to be the hottest and the hardest fought battle
that has even been on this continent. You would
hardly recognize any of us at present. Every one
looks as if he had passed through a hard spell of sickness,
black and muddy as hogs. There was no one
too nice that day to drop himself behind the breastworks.
Brigadiers and Colonels lay as low in the
trench and water as the men. It rained all that day
and night, and the water was from three to six inches
deep all along. If it had been winter the last man
would have been frozen. I am too worn out to write
anything of any interest. I am about half dead yet,
as is every one else from the effects of the cannonading.
My love to all, and believe me, your sincere son,
WALTER.
IN LINE BATTLE NEAR SPOTTSYLVANIA
My Dear Mother:
since I last wrote you. Fights and skirmishing
are kept up along the line. Our brigade is now the
extreme left of the whole army. Cavalry joins us on
our left. What Grant is waiting for it is impossible
to say. It is rumored through camps that he has
gone to Washington to consult with Lincoln. I do
not think it is possible to have any harder fighting
than we had last Thursday. Our brigade did some
of the hardest fighting that day and night that has
been done during the war. It is hard to realize what
our brigade did actually accomplish that day. That
morning at day break the enemy attacked Johnston's
whole division and took their breastworks from them,
together with fifteen or twenty pieces of artillery,
which endangered the whole of Evill's corps, owing
to the nature of the position which he held. Our
brigade after, we had charged and run the Yankees
from their works, was not long enough to cover the
line held by Johnston's division, so the Yankees held
a position on our right, upon a hill which enabled
them to keep up an incessant enfilading fire upon
us; two thirds of the men which we lost were done
in that way. Men were killed while squatting just
as low and as close to the breastworks as it was possible
for them to get. Tom Atkinson, poor fellow, was
shot through the head, right by my side, another man
in Company "E" was killed on the other; the man
in front was shot through the body. I did not realize
then what a hot place we were in. It was a wonder
to me that the last one of us was not killed. We
were exposed to that fire for twenty-two hours. Gen.
Rodes sent word to Gen. Ramseur he would send his
reinforcements, but Gen. R. sent him word that he had
taken the position and he was confident his brigade would
hold it. All he wanted to let us alone and send us
ammunition, which he did. I shot away 120 rounds of
cartridges myself, three cartridge boxes full.
Friday morning about an hour before day, we
evacuated the works, which had been thrown up during
the night by the entire pioneer force of the whole army. I
don't suppose there is any man that can express the relief
he felt after getting out of such a place. Our rations were
out the evening before and we had orders to be ready to
move next morning at 3 o'clock. We did not have time to
fill our canteens, so we did not have a mouthful to eat or
drink when we went into the fight. The ditches behind the
works were from three to six inches deep in mud and
water, and in addition to it it was raining incessantly from
light that morning until we left the works the next morning
after.
You can form some idea what our feelings would have
been, putting all these privations together, had there been
no danger attending, but add to all this the thought that the
next minute may be your last, is another thing altogether.
There is not a man in this brigade who will ever forget it.
I forgot to mention in my last that Burton's leg was
broken and he fell in the hands of the enemy. Pat Wooten
was also wounded on the leg. Hoping that kind Providence
may spare me to see the end of this great struggle, I
remain, as ever, your sincere and affectionate son,
WALTER.
WINDER HOSPITAL, RICHMOND,
Dear Mother:
Such a command at such a time puts a strange feeling
on a person, a relief to the mind which I can't describe,
nor any one realize, but those who have once been
placed in that situation. I always have had a horrible
idea of a night attack, and I do hope I may never have
to encounter one. We marched back to our breastworks
that night (about six miles). Reached there
about day break; since then I have been troubled with
weakness in the back and a general exhaustion from
over fatigue. I was not able to keep up and do duty
with the regiment, so I was sent off with a lot of
wounded, as that was no place for a sick man, looking
for a big fight at any moment. I think I shall be recruited
enough in a week or so to return. Don't feel
any anxiety on my account, as everything may turn
out for the best. Write me at this place as soon as
you receive this.
Yours, etc.,
Don't either of you get uneasy on my account and
try to come out here. I will let you know if I get
bad off to need your attention. I have written you
two letters since the fighting commenced; did you receive
them? Send me a sheet of paper as soon as you
receive this, and I will write you again immediately.
CAMP NEAR BUNKER HILL, VA., Aug. 30, 1864.
Dear Mother:
Saturday at Bunker Hill, as they fell back from Charlestown.
We went into camp and remained quietly until
yesterday morning when the Yankees advanced on
Martinsburg pike. We were thrown in line of battle
and remained so all day; the Yankees having retired
we went back into camp a little after dark. We received
orders last night to be ready to move this morning
at sunrise. 'Tis now about eleven o'clock and we
are still in camp and will probably remain here the
remainder of the day, though two or three days is
a long time for us to remain in camp without some
move. The boys all seem to be in very good spirits,
though they look quite thin from the hard marching
they have had to do since they left Richmond. It's
my opinion that the army will fall back towards Strasburg
in a few days, though it's only a conjecture of my
own. I have been in excellent health ever since I
left home, though at times I have had the blues pretty
bad. I begin to feel perfectly at home and everything
begins to feel like old times. I am in hopes we
have done most of our hard marching that is the only
thing I am dreading now. The weather has turned
some cooler, the nights are quite cool, making a heavy
blanket feel quite comfortable.
Tell Mr. Rhodes that Blake is with the Company
and is looking very well, he was only at the hospital
a few days from being broken down. He is asleep
now, or I would ask him if he wished to send any
message. Write soon. My love to all the family. I
remain as ever,
Your sincere and affectionate son,
UNITED STATES PRISONERS CAMP,
My Dear Mother:
Your sincere and affectionate son,
When I remember all
- THOMAS MOORE.
CAMP THREE MILES NORTH OF PETERSBURG,
My Dear Mother:
Last
Thursday about sunset the division left and
camped in a mile or two of Drury's Bluff, some ten
miles from here. Last night about 9 o'clock they
returned. We shall complete our quarters in two or
three days now. To-day being Sunday and Xmas
too, the boys think we should rest. It is the gloomiest
Xmas that I ever saw. We not only miss the extras
which we have had heretofore, but we have not got
as much meat or bread as we can eat. The Xmas
dinner promised to Lee's army, I see in the papers,
has been postponed until New Year's day. I doubt
then whether we get any as we are not in the intrenchments,
though I think we deserve it as much as they do.
We have done as much hard fighting and as for
the marching we have done all. The boys
were all very glad to see us. Gen. Grimes
happened to ride by as I arrived and was pulling my
things off. He stopped and had quite a long chat, he
seemed right glad to see me back. Col. Venable, one
of Gen. Lee's staff, told Gen. Grimes, who is in command
of the division now, to make his men as comfortable
as possible, that we would in all probability
remain here all the winter, unless something turned
up unforeseen at present. I am in hopes it may be
so, for I think our division needs rest if any troops in
the army do. I understand we came here to relieve
some of the troops in the fortification, but as they
had made themselves comfortable, they would not be
relieved. They preferred to remain in the works on
the front line. I think they are sensible too, for I
expect they will have us running all around, just as
we did the past two or three days, all winter. I almost
wish we had been sent South instead of Hoke's division.
In passing through Raleigh I staid all night at
the "Way-Side-Inn." Next morning in rolling up
my blankets I forgot to put my socks in and came off
and left them. I never hated anything so bad in
my life. Just think they were the only extra pieces
of clothing I took along, and then should lose them.
If McBride has not left before you receive this please
send me another pair. If you have any extra butter
at the time just wrap a rag around a small ball and
get him to bring that along. It is the best way to
send it in cold weather. He will have to walk about
a mile from where the cars stop to our camp. The
cars stop two miles this side of Petersburg, for fear
of being shelled. Blake has gone to Petersburg today
on a pass. He is looking very well. I called to see
uncle Richard while in Raleigh, the only relative I
saw. Raleigh has sadly changed in four years. Give
my love to all the family.
Your affectionate son,
CAMP FOURTH NORTH CAROLINA REGIMENT,
My Dear Mother:
going home by large squads. If this is true and it is
continued long, the Yankees will whip us certain. It
is the opinion here that Richmond is to be evacuated
this winter. That has a very demoralizing effect on
the men also. I hardly think that General Lee will
risk a battle around Richmond in the spring, unless
he gets more men. I don't think there will be any
general engagement here during the winter. The
sharpshooters keep everything alive on the lines day
and night. Every dark and cloudy night they keep
up such a heavy fire as to resemble a line of battle;
although we are some four miles off, we hear every
musket that is fired, as distinctly as if it was fired
in our own camp. Every two or three days the batteries
on each side take a notion to have a little duel,
and for an hour or two there is a cannon shot for
nearly every minute, then gradually dies out. It used
to make me feel a little uneasy at first, for when we
were in the valley and heard a cannon every man
would fix up his things, and by the time he got that
done, marching orders would come, but here we do
not mind it any more than if nothing was going on.
The box of blankets which we sent to Richmond last
winter, and the one in which my shawl was packed,
came the other day. Lieut. Wells expects to go home
in a few days and I shall send it home by him. I drew
a new blanket and also a pair of good woolen socks
which, with the ones you sent me by Mac, will last
me the rest of the winter.
Give my love to all.
Your affectionate son,
CAMP FOURTH NORTH CAROLINA REGIMENT,
Dear Sister:
Your devoted brother,
CAMP FOURTH NORTH CAROLINA REGIMENT,
My Dear Folks:
Last
week we spent on the front lines doing picket
duty in the place of Scales Brigade which has been
sent off. We had an awful time; the whole week it
rained, and sleeted part of the time, and the rest of
the time, it kept up the coldest wind that I ever felt.
The men on vidette had to be relieved every half hour,
to keep from freezing. One man in our regiment got
so cold he could hardly talk when he was relieved. On
the right of our brigade, the Yankees were some six
or eight hundred yards off, but on the left we were
near enough to talk to each other in an ordinary tone
of voice, though we were not allowed to speak to them
or to communicate with them in any way. We had
two men to desert our regiment and go to the enemy.
They were two brothers. I am afraid we will have
more desertions in the spring than we have ever had
yet. The men are getting very must dissatisfied. The
Consolidation Bill, which is to be carried into effect
shortly will cause a good deal of desertion among our
best soldiers. I am afraid our company and regiment
will lose their name after all the hard service which
we have done since the commencement of the war.
There are a good many peace rumors circulating
through camp, which gives the men something to talk
about. I fear it will all end in another summer's hard
fighting. If Blake comes by home, when he starts
back, you may send me a gallon of peas and some
potatoes. You need not send anything that you will
have to buy. I expect we draw as much meat here in
the army as you can afford to eat at home. I hope
something will turn up by spring which will enable
me to go home. I should like very much to see a good
crop growing on our little places. What does brother
intend doing in case the war continues? I hope he
will never have to go. If he does, anything is preferable
to infantry in the field.
Give my love to
all.
Yours affectionately,
CAMP. COX'S BRIGADE, NEAR PETERSBURG, VA.,
My Dear Mother:
have our quarters separate, and nothing to do but
keep up one post at night. We have no other duty
whatever to do, not even to answer to roll call. Capt.
Jones, our A. A. General, who gave me the detail,
told me to select my own men, so I took one from our
company, so that I might have an agreeable bedfellow
and messmate. George Winstead is his name. Wiley
Winstead's brother. I am just as comfortably fixed
now as I could wish to be out here. I shall miss all
the trips the troops will have to make during the winter,
such as picket duty, and all raids to head off the
"Yankees" unless we break up this camp entirely. Our
brigade goes on picket this morning, Saturday. I
am very much obliged to you for the box of provisions.
I
expect there is a movement on hand now, as
there is an order to issue three days' rations to the
men. Marching orders do not trouble me so much
now, as the guard is always apt to guard the forage,
etc., which is left in camp. I think of home every
time I take out my little ball of butter to eat with a
roasted potato at night before bed time. George Winstead
got a few potatoes from home the same day my
box came. I generally spend most of my time reading
whatever I am able to borrow. I wish I could
get something that would be more useful to me than
novels. I hope Blake got my shawl home all safe.
Give my love to all the family. Dossey has just been
in to see me on his way back to camp. He has been
to Petersburg on business for Gaston. He is very
well.
Your sincere and affectionate son,
WAGON YARD, COX'S BRIGADE, NEAR
My Dear Mother:
I
have not been down on the lines since we last
moved, but I hear that it is a very good place, inasmuch
as we will hardly be attacked in our front as long
as we stay there. I am still staying with Capt. Faircloth
in the Q. M. Department, but when the campaign
opens, I expect to go back to the company, as
every man that can handle a gun will be needed there.
Richmond and Petersburg have not been evacuated
yet, tho' there is still rumors that the latter place will
be. The papers are not allowed to publish any war
news, so we are as completely ignorant as you are as
to what is going on. I am very uneasy for fear that
Sherman's army will not be checked before we have
to evacuate Richmond and Peterburg. If that army
could only be whipped, and it must be, or we can't
stay in Virginia, I would still feel confident of the final
results. There are a good many of our soldiers deserting
to the enemy, but I am in hopes we will have enough left
to keep the Yankees in check on this line. I feel a good
deal of anxiety on account of Cullen's having to go in
service so soon. I would not have him join this regiment
for anything. If he cannot obtain a better place, I will try
and get him into Manley's Battery from Raleigh, which, if
he does have to go into active service right away, will be
the best place that I can think of. It is on the lines, some
two miles to our left, where it has been about ten months,
without losing a man in battle. If he was in that company,
he would see a much easier time than he would in
Infantry, being small, he would be very apt to be made a
driver and in time of fights hold the horses in the rear, or
in some place where they can be sheltered. What time
will he be seventeen? Write to me as soon as you
receive this, and let me know what he thinks about it. In
the meantime, I will go over to Manley's Battery and see
if I can get him in. I fear that it will be full, as I know a
good many young men who joined on coming seventeen.
It is a very good company and composed of a great many
very nice men. I knew some of them before the war. I
am intimately acquainted with all of the officers. Baz.
Manley is Capt. Bunny Guion, James Powell and James
McKimmon, the Lieutenant, all from Raleigh. Tell Cullen
to take my advice and never join this Regiment as long as
he can avoid it. However much I would like to have him
with me. I am giving him this advice for his
own good. Please think about the matter and write
me immediately. Give my love to all the family.
Where is sister? Is she at Wilson? I will write again
in a few days, probably before I hear from you. Tell
Cullen to write when you do. Goodbye.
Your affectionate son,
Alas,
these letters are all that is left of the two noble
sons and brothers, for George was killed at the battle
of "Seven Pines" while Walter died from exposure
after that terrible battle he so vividly describes in one
of his letters. "Requiescat in pace" to all who fell in
those days in that cruel war.
"All
quiet along the Potomac," they say,
- ETHEL LYNN BEERS
- ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.
The
first school I attended was more of a kindergarten
than for study. My teacher, Miss Hood, called
"Tump" by her closest friends, permitted me to do
much like I was inclined, and the time I spent in learning
the alphabet, if properly applied, would have taken
me well along in the speller. In my efforts to master
the "A. B. C.'s," I reached the letter "O" and here I
spent days and weeks. It seemed so easy compared
with the ones I had struggled with that on my second
trial I stood by the teacher's knee, she pointed with
pencil to the little fat letter, I cried out in delight, "O
here she is." The children hearing it began to laugh,
and of course that made me repeat "O here she is"
again, and the teacher could get me no farther down
the line until she began with "Z" and worked upwards,
where I was delighted to meet my old friend
again and make the children laugh by saying "O here
she is." As the years have passed I have observed that
all my sorrows and all my joys have begun with the
exclamation of that little round letter "O. "
Then I was advanced a grade higher, and Mrs.
Noble, a lady both noble by name and nature, undertook
the work of teaching me. She had three boys
and one girl whom she taught at her own home, and
out of the abundance of a good heart, knowing the
burden my poor mother was carrying, offered to take
me as a pupil.
One morning my father was so ill he decided to
send for a lawyer and make his will, always wanting
to save my mother all worry possible. His farm,
"White Oaks," had now become valuable for cotton
and tobacco. With a large fruit orchard, and near a
railroad had increased its value.
When Mr. Hood, the lawyer, came, he told him
that he wanted to bequeath that land to his first children,
and the lots and land in around town, with household
goods and personal effects, to my mother, knowing
she would make a fair division of his property.
"Well, Mr. Lee," said Mr. Hood, "what will you do
with 'Aunt Pallas'?" "Old woman, call her in here,"
he said. Mother did as requested, and Aunt Pallas
soon appeared at the door.
"Pallas," said my father, "I am making my will,
and I want to know if you still object to being set free
at my death? I have tried, year after year, Mr. Hood,
to give her freedom, but she always declined, saying
she could not take care of herself, and we could not
take care of the children without her. Now I am
determined to leave my business in such condition
there will be no bother to my wife, who has had to
work so hard ever since she married me, that I want
her last days to be free from care so far as I am concerned.
Pallas what do you say to your freedom
now?"
"Lawsa massey Mars Charlie I ain't got no notion
of bein' a free niggah. No sah I ain't, don't put dat
down in black and white, cause I shore don't want no
more freedom den I has already got. I thankee, Mars
Charlie, just de same."
"Well, Pallas, do you want to stay here with my
wife and these children, or go and live with some
of the older ones? You know you came from Col.
Hinton."
"No sah, Mars Charlie, I don't want to leave Miss
Candace and dese chillun."
"Well, which one do you want me to put you down
in the will as owning you?" "Now, Mars Charlie,
I reckon Betsey will need me longer den de balance,
so I'll belong to de baby."
Not wanting to separate from my mother, I know
now why she chose me to be her owner; surely we all
owned her, dear old faithful mammy, as she was,
and loved her too, not as much as she deserved, but
we each and all loved her as our own.
- ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.
A few
months passed, the Battle of Bull Run had
been fought, and Jefferson Davis elected President
of the Southern Confederacy. My father was evidently
forgotten, for the time being, by his neighbors
who had such artistic taste, but that insidious disease
did not forget to make such inroads on his health that
he had to quit business and take to his bed. I was
nearly six years old then, and Aunt Pallas had told
me of "Sandy Claus," as she called him, and how many
pretty things he brought good children. "Now Betsey,
when Christmas comes, you mus' be shore and
hang up yer stockin' in de parlor in de great house"
(another of her names for our dwelling).
The
kitchen and dining room, with a room for herself,
was only a few feet away from the house, just
far enough to keep out the fumes of the cooking, a
horror all Southerners have to this day, of this odor
from the kitchen.
Each
day I begged her to tell me how much nearer
Christmas was, the time seemed so long and I wondered
if Christmas ever would come. Aunt Pallas
kept me informed of the nearness, and I remember
when she said, "Betsey only three more nights and old
Sandy'll shore be heah."
I went to
bed feeling so pleased, but after I had been
sleeping sometime, Rilia awoke me, and I, more asleep
than awake, was told that my father was going on a long
journey and I must go and bid him goodbye. She carried
me into father's room; standing around his bedside were
all my brothers and sisters. My poor mother, kneeling at
the head sobbing, but hushed as soon as I was taken in
the room.
Rilia held me
so that my father clasped me in his arms
and, folding me to his heart, gasped "God bless my baby."
I kissed him and gave him a little hug. I said "Goodbye
father, bring me a pretty when you come back." Amid
sobs from the family I was put back to sleep in my little
trundle-bed.
The next
morning I was dressed by my sisters and sent
out to the kitchen to Aunt Pallas. The moment I saw her,
I began, "How long before Sandy Claus comes?"
"Tomorrow night honey, but laws a massey on my soul
Sandy Claus has done and died this night, and he'll never
come back heah again to put candy and oranges in yer
stockin', poah little Betsey," and here she began to wipe
her eyes. I remembered she often told me I could not do
a thing and then she would change her mind and let me do
it and I felt sure she was not going to let Sandy Claus stay
dead, and not fill my stocking, and felt so certain I did not
even think very long of what she had said.
That day I was not permitted to go in the "great
house" at all, but the family would come out and look at
me, take me in their arms and say "Poor little Bettie" or
"poor little Laura." When I saw my mother again she was
dressed in black and so were my sisters. I had forgotten
about the night before and bidding goodbye to my father,
when mother said, "You poor little darling, your father has
gone to heaven, and you must be a good little girl if you
ever want to see him again." I thought in my childish way
that heaven was a little farther away than Raleigh and I
must be very good.
The day and night passed, another day dawned and I
well remembered that was the night to hang up my
stocking for good old Santa Claus to fill. Rather than
Aunt Pallas should discourage me about his being dead, a
thing I did not understand, I made up my mind to keep
quiet on the subject, but when night came to hang up the
stocking where she told me in the "great house." At the
time the family had gone out to supper I took my little
stocking and quietly opened the parlor door and slipped
into the room, as I remembered Aunt Pallas had told me
to do, and there in the middle of the floor, on something
like chairs, was a big black box, with candles burning at
the head and foot. I was so frightened of this scary
looking thing, my little knees were shaking so I could
hardly pass this black "bogy" and reach the fire place and
the hook that Aunt Pallas said was to hold the stocking. I
suddenly remembered she had always told me that
"hants" had been seen in many places, and they had
always been "big white things" or "big black things."
Instantly I was seized with the thought that this was
a "hant" sure enough, as Aunt Pallas would say, but
there was no time to lose, for I must hang up that
stocking. I had waited so long for the time to come,
and now that it was here I just wouldn't be afraid
of a "hant," and didn't my mother say for me to be
"good," and that meant not to cry, as I would surely
do if I kept so scared of a "hant." Grasping my
stocking tightly I ran around the big black box and
hung it up, feeling the cold chills creeping over me.
I ran quickly by the "hant," and closing the door ran
out into the kitchen shaking with fright.
"Why Betsey how white you are chile, come along
and let Aunt give you some supper and put you to
bed." Two or three times that night I awoke screaming
at the "big black bogy."
When morning came I was dressed in a Sunday
frock, for Rilia said I was going to the funeral. As
I didn't know what that meant I wasn't bothered except
to wonder if my stocking was full and if that
"big black hant" was in the front room or not. I
started to peep in but saw so many men doing something
to this black box and putting it in another, I
had no time to look for the coveted stocking, for they
closed the door; then after breakfast I ran back and
saw the box and "black bogy" were all out and gone.
I ran to the fireplace and found the poor little stocking
laying empty on the hearth, where in my fright
the night before it must have fallen. Picking it up
I began to weep as if my heart was broken, and when
asked by Nealie, who ran to see what was the matter
with me, I cried aloud in my deep despair, that
"Sandy Claus" had died and never put anything in
my stocking. My mother and sisters hearing this
wail of sorrow, instead of trying to pacify me, as
they used to do, joined in with me and we all wept
so long and loud that I hushed in sheer surprise.
While this was happening to us I was taken out by
Aunt Pallas, dressed in warm clothes and wraps, and
together we went in the barouche that took us for
a long drive, till I cried again because "Sandy Claus"
didn't put anything in my stocking, then fell asleep.
When I awoke we were following that big black box
again in an orchard, with the apples shrivelled on the
ground. At last we came to a place where everybody
stopped and even the big box stopped, then men began
to let it down in a hole, and taking spades, the
clay and dirt was put back and a man dressed in black
was talking and everybody was crying. I began to
think that "Sandy Claus" was dead to them too, and
would never fill my stocking, so I set up another wail
that made Aunt take me back to the barouche and
get me something to eat, and then the people walking
and driving started back again.
When I reached home Rilia, my half sister, said,
"You poor little thing, to hang up your stocking and
not get a thing. Tell me when and where you hung
it." I told her as it happened to me and what Aunt
said about Sandy Claus being dead. "Honey you
hang it up again tonight, just to show Pallas that he
is not dead. I just bet anything you get that little
stocking filled tonight." I said, "O sister you know
how to bring old Sandy Claus back again, don't you?"
"Yes, I do, and I will, too."
That night I was tired and went to bed early, but I
did not forget to hang up the stocking again. Rilia
helped me and I hung it in my mother's room. The
next morning I was called by sister Rilia, "Get up
Bettie and see what Santa Claus has brought you."
There staring at me with black beady eyes, was a
lovely rag doll and a lot of candy, oranges and peanuts
in a box and a piece of silver money in the toe of
the stocking. O what happiness to know that Santa
Claus still lived and loved me! Even now I bless that
half sister for the deed that gave me back my hope
and faith in dear old Santa Claus, though I never forget
on Christmas day that long ride and the walk
through the orchard and seeing the large crowd of
men standing bare headed while the big black box
was let down into that hole and filled with clay. There
steals a sadness over me despite the long years that
have passed, that I cannot shake off, even when I see
my little grand children happy around my knee.
Three years after moving to Clayton, our family
became so small that even Aunt Pallas was lonesome
and wanted the children back again, even if the work
was harder on her. The older ones had married and
settled in different places, and only the two youngest
of my half brothers remained at home with my mother
and her three children. My half sister, Rilia, had
married a man from Boston, who located in Raleigh,
where he was engaged in the manufacture of spurs,
bridles, bits, etc., for the Confederate army. Rilia
whom I loved as my own, was the sweetest and best
sister a girl ever had. She was unselfish to a fault,
besides being the "funny" one in the family. Her
talent for mimicry was worthy of cultivation. If I
was cross or irritable, she knew how to put me in a
good humor "by taking me off" as she expressed it.
She had no marks of beauty for she never lost the
Hinton likeness. Her droll and almost comical expression
gave her face a pleasant look and while I used to
sit and admire Nealie on account of her beauty, I
would sit fascinated by Rilia's drollery. Oh how I
loved them both, but for very different reasons, and
when Rilia married I was as lonesome for her as when
Nealie became the happy bride of her soldier sweetheart.
Angel of charity, who, from above,
- THOMAS MOORE.
- ARCHBISHOP TRENCH.
The year
following my father's death was fraught
with much trouble for my poor mother. There were
some irregularities in his will, and the war having
taken away almost all the men of the town, left her in
dire need of legal advice, but the fact that she had
no money to spend without getting value received
caused the farm of "White Oaks" to be lost to the family.
There were three hundred acres of land that had
become valuable for cotton raising, that passed out
of the family for want of some one to advise
my mother.
It seems that father, in the kindness of his heart,
had stood security for a friend, and as almost always
happens, he was the one to pay. This land
was to be sold to pay his "just debts." The law required
the sheriff to advertise it in three conspicuous
places in the county, the Court House, the cross-roads,
and the town. The sheriff was a man who was anxious
to "get rich quick," and taking advantage of the
absence of legal talent and my mother's ignorance of
such things, did not post the notice as required by
law, for no one ever saw it if he did.
While the great battle of Bull Run was being
planned and fought this officer of the law went to
"White Oaks," put up the land for sale and had his
son buy it for himself. When my mother learned of
this it was too late, and she was afraid to take her
good money to recover the farm, and fearing the loss
of all, gave it up entirely.
The mercantile business and its good-will were sold
for a song, because of the scarcity of men to run it,
and consequently that was sacrificed too.
The stock, the home and contents were also sold
at auction. My mother had so much sentiment, she
bought all the chickens and cows; and "Gofar," our
family horse, was put up for sale too, and last of all
Aunt Pallas.
There were few mean enough to bid against a
widow who would have a hard struggle to support her
three little children. How I dreaded to see Aunt
Pallas ordered on the block. I held on to her, dear,
faithful soul, till the auctioneer began his cries. He
told what a trustworthy servant she was, and her good
points he dwelt on, until I feared for her being left to
us, and then he began "How much is bid for Pallas?"
There was a dead silence, for ages, it seemed to me,
when we children all weeping together heard my
mother's voice filled with sobs, answer "Five hundred
dollars," then again the auctioneer cried "Five hundred
dollars is too cheap for Pallas, a good cook, a
good nurse, a cornfield hand, a seamstress, a good
weaver, and there is not much of anything that she
cannot do. How much is bid for Pallas?" A silence
of a few seconds, but years it seemed to us; no one
raised a voice, and the auctioneer continued "Five
hundred, going! going! gone! to Mrs. Lee." How
we all wept for joy and I hugged her neck so tight
I nearly choked her when she stepped off the block.
Of course "Gofar" was such a pet we could not bear
to let him go, and by the time the sale was over my
poor mother had bought about six thousand dollars'
worth, including the different lots around town that
father had owned.
Her surprise was great at her boldness in buying
all these things at such a time as the South was beginning
to experience. At supper that night, when she
was telling of this amount that seemed like a large
fortune to her, she exclaimed, "How in the world will
I ever manage to pay the four thousand dollars?" (She
still had managed to keep the two thousand that she
had before her marriage.) "The Lawd will help you
Miss Candace, 'cause you were shore trying to do your
duty." "Well I know what I am going to try to do,
go to Raleigh and get sewing for the soldiers from the
Commissary Department, they are paying good prices
I hear, and there is plenty of work to be had. I shall
go tomorrow and see what may be done about it."
"There,
mother, I knew you would pay for Aunt
and Gofar" I cried.
"My
child, you have yet to learn there is a great
deal of difference between talking and paying, 'talk
is cheap,' but it takes money to pay debts." The next
day Bob was ordered to hitch "Gofar" to the buggy
and drive my mother to the "City of Oaks." An old
man, Alvin Johnson, was helping put the harness on
the horse, I was sitting in the buggy watching the old man
adjust the parts when he suddenly called out, "Bob you
hold his head while I thread his tail."
They drove to
Raleigh, about fifteen miles distant. My
mother gave the credentials necessary and was given
one hundred soldiers' jackets to make for our soldiers.
She and Nealie began sewing on them the next day, and
so they continued to do through the four long years of
the war.
Once when
Nealie had been up to Raleigh to get some
more work from the Commissary Department, she came
to the station to return home she found an uncle of ours
on the train. He had been to the hospital at Weldon to see
his son who had been wounded. Uncle was sick himself
all the way home, and Nealie sat by him and tried to
cheer him. On reaching home, the next morning, he said,
"Candace, let Bob take me home in the buggy, I am so
sick I can't walk."
My mother
replied, "Yes, you have a hot fever." So he
was sent home, and after reaching there a physician was
called and found him breaking out with the small-pox. Bob
drove frantically back home, and when he told my mother
and Nealie they nearly fainted, especially poor little
Nealie, thinking that perhaps her beautiful face might be
marked forever by that dreadful disease. We heard
nothing but small-pox (that we should all be sure to catch
it), from morning till night. No wonder it made such a
deep impression on my sister's subconsciousness. My
mother, so anxious, sent for Dr. Robertson, an army
physician, to
tell her if there was a preventive. "No, Mrs. Lee," said
he, "there is not. Think no more about it, Miss Cornelia,
but at the first indication of indisposition on her part, call
me; I shall stay in Clayton for some time before returning
to Goldsboro."
Still it was hard to keep from talking about what might
happen; we each prayed hard that she might escape that,
the time was about expired and my mother and sister
were beginning to look more hopeful, when one Saturday
night, just two weeks since Nealie had been with Uncle,
when we all sat around the fire in mother's room and she
was telling us some of the incidents of her own life, I
saw my mother look startled and said, "Cornelia, what is
the matter?"
"I feel sick, mother, like I had a chill." Mother grasped
Bob and me, and running to the kitchen with us, said,
"Pallas, my child has the small-pox, take care of these
babies for I don't know when I shall ever see them
again; maybe never, and clasping us to her heart, with
"God bless you," ran back to my sister. Finding her
growing worse, she ran for the doctor, who said, "The
symptoms are much like the small-pox, but don't give up
yet, it may be a cold and will soon pass off."
From that night until the thirteenth her symptoms were
greatly like it. We (Bob and I) were never allowed near
the house. Aunt Pallas cooked the food, and carried it to
the door, and there left it. My mother would come daily
to the window and call to us to be good and pray for
Nealie, who was raging with fever and pain in her head.
We were all in
quarantine. Nobody came nearer than the gate, except
the Doctor. After two weeks, and she still raved
with fever and pain in her head, Dr. Robertson called
in another consulting physician. They decided that
it was not small-pox, but brain fever. Still with
grateful hearts to God that she did not have small-pox,
we were told it was more dangerous still, and
that her life hung by a thread. For days she lay unconscious
and still raving in delirium; but one morning
in the third week she awoke in her right mind, and
after a long while she was able to be up, and gradually
grew strong and well again.
- J. W. DE GOETHE.
My
poor mother, at intervals, would stop sewing to
help weave the cloth for our clothes, Aunt Pallas
usually finding time to spin the cotton. My task was
given me every day after school, either to make a
pair of linings for the sleeves of the soldiers' jackets or
go to the kitchen and help Aunt Pallas spin the cotton
yarn.
Often at
school the other children would feign sickness
and stay at home. I tried it only two or three
times, for as soon as I reached home and my mother
asked me a few questions, she said, "go out and help
Aunt spin some yarn for your stockings." I hated
that above all the other kinds of work, though Aunt
Pallas said, "It'll make you graceful, Betsey, hold you'
head laik 'big bugs' ought to."
The next day found me bright and early at school,
and the more willing student I became from the few
times I tried to stay at home. Weaving was too hard
for me, for my legs were not long enough to reach
the treadles, but I would watch my mother making
pretty plaid goods for my dresses, the pink dyes were
made from poke berries, and the blues were dyed with
indigo. How I used to like to help with the dyeing.
I didn't care for other colors enough to know from
what my mother made them.
There never was such a busy woman as she was,
and wanted us to be busy too, from one duty to
another. I had so many yards of cotton yarn measured
off for me and had a certain time to knit it into
stockings for myself. The time came when every
Southern woman wanted to show her loyalty to the
Southern cause by wearing everything home made, and
store goods were tabooed as something entirely unnecessary.
The millinery was one of the most difficult things
to make. Finally one of our girls discovered that the
husks of corn made beautiful straw hats after being
soaked in water and bleached white or dyed the color
preferred. It was plaited and sewed together, then
bent in shapes to suit the wearer, and odds and ends
would be used to trim them with; home-made flowers.
Wire grass and palmetto were also woven and plaited
into pretty designs, and made up nicely, though
cow horns scraped into white shavings, and sewed on
a pasteboard crown, with black velvet brim, made the
prettiest turbans. I used to enjoy the time for making
our hats, for my mother wanted us as well dressed
as our neighbors, and always found time to make our
clothes in the fashion; but the day that Nealie wore
a homespun of blue grey, with a long Chesterfield coat,
every seam in the long wrap corded with dark blue,
with a cow's horn turban, a snowy white with blue
velvet brim, and a bunch of red roses on the side,
nobody who saw her would have thought that every
thread she wore had been spun, woven and made at
our home, except the old velvet for the brim.
Aunt
Pallas used to make our substitute for coffee;
at first she roasted corn meal, a thing we could not
bear to drink, then sweet potatoes cut in dice shape
and roasted, which was an improvement, but when
she tried roasted rye, we found it the next best
thing to genuine coffee.
Working
from early morn till sundown, for she
never would do anything but knitting at night, my
mother paid all her indebtedness long before the war
ended. Having paid her two thousand dollars on the
debt, she continued to pay quarterly as much as she
could earn and spare from her living. When the
war ended she had several thousand dollars of Confederate
money, utterly worthless, but as she had paid
four thousand dollars indebtedness by means of this
same money, so worthless later on, we could not help
but see how much my mother had accomplished
with it.
- HENRY C. WORK.
The next
great epoch in my life was "Sherman's
march through Georgia," continued into North Carolina.
We were told every day that he would be there
in a day or two, the days became weeks, and he
did not come; everything was waiting for his coming,
for we knew it was inevitable, and then began the
hiding of everything of any value, but the children
and negroes were kept in ignorance as to the whereabouts
of the hidden effects. I am certain my mother
and her neighbors would hide the things one night
and take them up the next to find a safer place. But
her real anxiety was for her girls. Many things like
silver plate had been dropped in the well or buried
beneath the floor of the horses' stalls. A trunk containing
clothing, my mother's wedding dress, especially
to be prized, was buried in a pine thicket, a mile or
two away from town. Even faithful Aunt Pallas was
not told where the things were hidden, lest through
fear or threats she turn traitor at the last minute and
tell the Yankees the hiding place. Our soldiers
had well nigh depleted our county of everything
to eat, and it was getting to be the daily wish
that the "Yankees would come through," as Aunt
Pallas would say. The battle of Averysboro was a
vivid reminder to us all of what poor Walter had
written about the battle of Spottsylvania Court House,
Virginia. All day long we could hear the booming
of cannon, which meant death to so many poor fellows.
This battle was fought between Gen. Slocum's army
and General Joe Johnston's, one of our Commanders.
The confederates, however, were forced to fly, and
when they passed our town they were in a mighty
big hurry to get away from General Slocum. They
tore down fences, railroads, etc., and when the ragged,
half starved fellows passed our house, they left orders
for all the women and children to get between the
chimneys. My mother and sister had been on the
porch, waving a last farewell to the poor defeated Confederates
who had held out so wonderfully during
those days of suffering. They called to them if they
heard any skirmishing to be sure and seek a place of
safety, for Sherman would reach Clayton by eleven
o'clock that morning. I was greatly disturbed on
going to my room to find all my frocks hanging in the
closets, after begging mother to hide them as Bettie
Cox's mother had done her things. I wondered where
I could find a safe place, and failing concluded to wear
them all. I managed to put on four with a large
new homespun for the top dress. Then I went into
the dining room and in the drawer where the steel
knives and forks were I found a plated fork; thinking
it safer too on my person, I tried to find a place about
me where I could hide it, but could think of no safe
place, only in my stocking, so placing it with the
prongs turned out, I thought no more about it till
later in the day. After a while my mother bade us
get indoors between the chimneys as ordered, for now
and then a stray minie ball came whizzing through the
trees. Then came the rear guard of Johnston's army,
and half starved as they were, they still shouted "Hurrah
for Jeff Davis" and "We'll hang Abe Lincoln to
a sour apple tree." With a wave of their tattered old
hats the last of our brave boys passed our house on
their way to Raleigh. While the women and children
of our little town were left to the mercy of the enemy
and Gen. William Tecumseh Sherman. Such horrible
stories my mother had heard of what might happen
to her daughters gave her so much real pain, that
when the last of our boys had gone forever, her features,
looked determined like they did when she had
a difficult task to do and intended to do it. Such a
look came over her face as a bugle blast was heard
and then burst upon our vision Sherman's army. Our
soldiers had passed ragged, barefooted; words beggar
the description of their real condition. Here coming,
from every direction, were men in beautiful blue and
new looking uniforms, and everything seemed to stand
out as silhouettes against the bright April sun, and
there mounted on his favorite charger, was Gen. William
Tecumseh Sherman, gorgeous in gold and blue;
then came the guard that he ordered sent to protect
us, and such a sea of faces that we could not look in
any direction that the Yankees were not, and soon
the porch was filled with them asking if there were
any "Johnny Rebs" inside. I chanced to follow the
guard to see what he intended doing, when he
remarked, "Say, Betty (for I had told him my name as
soon as I saw him), why are you so warm?" He was
out digging up some buried treasures, I said: "Well, I
have on five frocks, Mr. Bunting, and they make me
very warm, for one of them is woolen." He
replied "will you tell me what you are wearing all
those dresses for on such a warm day?" I answered,
"Why, to keep the Yankees from getting them." "Oh
I see, well, let me tell you, as long as General Sherman
sent me here to guard your mother's house and effects,
I will see that the Yankees don't get your dresses. Go,
child, and take them off." I lifted my homespun skirt
to show him that I really did have on five dresses,
when he caught sight of something sticking out of
my stocking.
"Well,
please tell me what that is in your stocking
that sticks out like knitting needles?"
"That's
my fork I have been eating with since the
others were hid. I didn't want the Yankees to get
anything I had, for I believe my mother forgot to hide
these things."
I left
him and went into the kitchen and in a few
minutes a Yankee came in holding a tin cup in his hand.
My mother had just stepped in to speak to Aunt about
preparing supper when the Yankee spoke, saying in a
very rough way, "What in the h--- is this?" Poor
mother looked so surprised, and said, "Why how
should I know?" "Well, you have got to tell us." By
that time several others came up. "I can't tell you
what I don't know," she replied. "Yes, but you do
know, and by gosh you've got to tell us," he hissed
out. "You've got to drink some of your poison you
fixed for us." My mother began to tremble and said
"What do you want me to take the poison for, I have
never harmed you?" "Well you are trying to poison
us, aren't you? Come now, drink hearty." Mother
began to shake as he kept holding out the cup; she
took it and said, "tell me where you got it." "Out
of this jug, we found it in there," he said, pointing
to Aunt's room. "Oh if you got it from that place
I will tell you that it is French brandy," she answered.
"Oh, no, no, it is not the right color, though it smells
like it, you have put some poison in it, if it is," said
he, "and now you shall drink some of it." Mother,
so helpless, stood there, and holding the cup in her
hand asked, "have you put anything in it to poison me,
I don't object to tasting it if you have not tampered
with it." "Not on your life would we put poison in
anything that smells as good as this, though it does
look queer."
"Well,"
said my mother, "if you haven't put anything
in it, I will taste it," for the jug it was in had
only held sorghum, so suiting the action to the word
she put the cup to her lips, just as the guard made
his appearance and ran them away. He scolded mother
and told her never to have any words with them
again, but to call him and he would settle everything.
General Sherman
camped near our house that night
and early next morning he was on his way to Raleigh,
but not before he left a warm spot in the hearts of
one Southern family named Lee. God bless him!
"Two knights in armor who fought unto the death of each,
because of their reading differently the inscription of a
shield. Each was right, but they read the two different sides
of the shield."
- THOMAS HOOD.
After
Sherman's main army reached Raleigh, "the
bummers," as they were called, followed in a few days.
These were the men who pillaged and caused much
annoyance to the neighborhood, by sometimes committing
crimes. They visited our town in pairs, and
each home of any pretensions. They evidently thought
the people had had time to dig up their treasures,
therefore it would be easy to find many valuables,
which they did. They searched our house thoroughly,
even the boxes in my playhouse they ransacked. I
shall never forget how we, Nealie and I, kept hiding
from room to room, as these brutes would go into
another.
After
leaving the town they stopped and raided the
home of Mr. Urias Baucom, a former slave owner
and stock raiser. He had made a great deal of money
in the business, and had managed to convert it into
gold. It was an open secret that he had buried his
treasure. These "bummers" had been told the
story by some of the negro slaves that he had formerly
owned. Going to his home they demanded his gold;
he told them they could not get it, that he had worked
hard for it and would not give it up. Whereupon
they seized and tied him hand and foot; then putting
a gag in his mouth, he was left to reconsider. After
searching in vain they returned to demand a second
time the hiding place of his gold. He still declared
he would never tell them; then binding him again,
they took him to a tree and tied him up by his thumbs.
His wife, who was cooking and knew nothing of what
was going on, hearing groans, ran frantically out, beseeching
them to let her husband go free. They demanded
of her if she knew where the gold was hidden,
and she told them "yes," whereupon Mr. Baucom
begged her not to tell, saying he'd as soon die as to
lose his hard earned money in his old age.
Some of
"the bummers" went with her, where they
found a few old socks filled with silver and a little
gold, but she must have found enough to satisfy the
wretches for they cut the rope and Mr. Baucom was a
free man, but not many dollars of his hard earned
gold had they found, for he well knew his wife would
give away the secret if his life was in jeopardy, and
he only told her of a small amount.
He had dug
up the county road in front of his house,
and taking his canvas bags of gold had deposited
them there in the night time, then filled the hole with
stone and gravel as if the road had never been touched.
This he did weeks before, and Sherman and his whole
army marched over more than fifty thousand dollars
of buried treasure in gold on the county road to Raleigh.
The years
eighteen sixty-five to sixty-nine were
spent by the South in recovering from the effects of
the war. The state of North Carolina was among the
first to recover, and our little town was not slower
than the others to show marked signs of improvement.
My mother's
little family, then not so burdensome,
consisted of Nealie, Bob and myself, the other children
having married and settled off in different parts of the
state. Bob, who returned soon after the surrender
from the swamps, near Fayetteville, where he had
taken our "Gofar" with a buggy load of things to
keep the Yankees from taking them, was then large
enough with Aunt Pallas help to cultivate the small
parcels of land, and we were able to hold our own with
any of our neighbors.
During these
days many things happened "to try
men's souls," among them was the formation of a
society called the "Red Strings," that even afforded
some amusing incidents, one at least I will recall.
One day
Aunt Pallas came in and said, "laws a massey,
I wish Miss Candace you and the chillun could
see dem 'Red things' a trying to drill, he! he! he!"
Here she laughed so immoderately that we could not
help but join her, though not knowing what she was
laughing at. She suddenly stopped and burst out
again, "laws, dem crazy niggahs would surely make
a doag laugh, he! he! he!" Bob could wait no longer,
and cried out, "shut up Aunt and tell us what you
mean by 'Red Strings.'" "Why, don't you know, honey,
dat Mr. Roby has been around invitin' all de niggahs
to meet at Roxboro, men and women, too, mind what
I'm tellin' ye, to jine some sort of a sassiety, dat we
colored people are 'quested to be membahs of, he! he!
he! 'what is going to make a 'provement on us.' I just
says 'yes sah, Mr. Roby, I heahs what you say, but I'm
too old to go and jine any sassiety now.' Still chillun, I
was mos' a dyin' with scurosity to see what dey was a
doin', anyhow, an I went along down to Liza's house, and
saw all de free niggahs in de county a marchin'. De drum
was a beatin' and de fife a tootin' and den Mr. Roby said
'fall in' and shore nuff, they started two and two togedder
a sayin' 'hep, hep, hep.' Bimeby Mr. Roby said 'forward
march,' and I'll be seized by cats if all dem niggahs didn't
start in to try to drill, he! he! he! sorta laik soldiers. Shore
thing he kept dem niggahs steppin' laik a chicken on a hot
griddle for a while, den he up and says 'close up,' and
would you believe it chillun, every last niggah man and
woman in dat company - he! he! he! - began to pull up
dere close, shore nuff. I surtingly did nearly splode with
laffin at 'em." At this we all joined in.
"I better
be keerful too how I goes a laffin' at folks
'cause I may get that pain again. Oh, bless de Lawd how
me old back do ache."
- WILHEIM MAKELIME THACKERY.
About
the time the "Ku Klux Klan" made their
appearance, I remember one morning at the breakfast
table Aunt Pallas came in with a plate of hot biscuits,
her eyes bulging and her whole frame shaking,
"Miss Candace, I suttinly saw 'ghostes' or 'hants' last
night."
"Now,
Pallas, what do you mean by such talk?"
Though noting her agitation my mother repeated,
"What is the matter?"
"I shore
saw 'ghostes' last night. Brother Dannyell
had been to see me and we kept a settin' talkin' till
I thought I heard a chicken crowin' fer day. We was
a talkin' about Mars Charles and de good old days,
when Bro. Dannyell 'lowed he'd be gwine along home.
I jest walked to the front gate wid him, when dere riz
up afore us a whole passell of 'ghostes' and 'hants,' a
ridin' laik dey was on hoss back. Hit's de truth - I
declare pint blank. Dey was so tall, chillun, dey jest
riz plum up to de sky and laik a skeleton wid a fire
a burning in its head, and it was all wrapped in something
like white sheets, reachin' clear to the ground.
I jest raised my voice and said 'Praise de Lawd,
Brother Dannyell, dis ole niggah's time have come,'
when a voice from the grave laik said, 'What are you
a doin' up till dis time of night Pallas Lee, talkin'
to dat man?' Folkses I'm tellin nuffin but the truf,
my ole knees wuz a shakin' and I jes drapped down
and begun to pray. Laws a massey Mars Jesus, furgive
me for being up talkin' to my poor old brudder
Dannyell till dis time o' night and I'll promise Mr.
'Ghostes' or 'hants' nevah to do so no more."
"Now
Pallas," dat voice repeated again, "are you
shore dat man is your brudder, or is ye jes tellin'
me lies? Be keerful Pallas Lee what ye tells me" dat
same voice 'sclaimed.
"Chilluns,
ye orter heard me pleadin' for me life."
"Yes, Master
Ghosts, I am shore tellin' ye de gospel
truf. I neveh 'lows no niggahs roun heah but my ole
brudder Dannyell, an Aunt Liza, cause I don't laik
to disturb my Missus and dem chillun what I loves
so much, besides Mister Ghost all dese niggahs round
heah b'long to de 'Red String Sassiety.'"
"Very well,
Pallas Lee, go to your bed and you
Dannyell go to your home, but 'member tomorrow to
tell all your 'Red String' friends to look out, for de Klu
Klux are out riding dis county up and down to catch
niggahs dat are in mischief." "I ain't nevah heard tell
of no such name before as 'Klu Klux.' Yaas Ma'am,
day say dat to me - as sartin' as I am a standin' heah."
"Pallas,
I am sure you dreamed that, for it sounds
just like your ghost stories and you know I don't
want these children to hear such foolishness. Of
course they know you tell them like fairy tales and
so they don't believe you are telling the truth."
"Miss
Candace, I hope I may drap stone dead if I
ain't tellin' ye de truf, laws, de goose bumps jes nascherally
raise on me to even think about it now," declared
Aunt in the most solemn tones.
My mother
not wishing to hear more about such
monstrous dreams, ordered her to say no more about
it. Later in the day one of the neighbors dropped in
and told us even a more marvelous tale.
This
lady whose husband, I suppose was a member
of the Ku Klux Klan, told of a company of grotesque
figures that had been seen the night before,
mounted on horseback, appearing like the heads of
skeletons illuminated, their grinning teeth and horrible
looking sockets glittering with lights shining out from
a white robe that enveloped both horse and rider.
She related further that a negro, who had made threats
against some of the white people had been found,
killed and quartered and hung from Neuse river
bridge, with a notice of warning to the other negroes
and "Red Stringers."
However,
that cured our county of such lawlessness
with the exception of one more horrible case, so that
the Society of Red Strings disbanded and never drilled
again.
The other
case I recall was one of the most horrible
crimes that came to my knowledge during those days
and as a little child it made such a deep impression,
I can still see a good reason, why the "Ku Klux Klan"
was organized.
My mother
and sister Nealie were invited to spend
a few days in the country. Shortly after reaching
Mrs. Gardner's home a messenger on horseback dashed
up and told them an assault and murder had been committed
by a young negro fellow on Kitty Austin, the
sixteen year old daughter of her nearest neighbor.
These women wasted no time in reaching the scene
and the Coroner was requested to hold an inquest on
the body. The few soldiers that were left to the
South had not yet returned to their homes, so the
Coroner ordered a jury of women for the preliminary
trial. Twelve representative women were selected as
jurors - my mother and her friends among them.
Mother was chosen as forewoman when the trial came
off. They proved this negro was found sitting on
a fence with a knife covered with blood in his hand
and eating an apple. The body of the girl only a
few feet distant in the orchard where she had been
sent by her mother to gather fruit for dinner was lying
with her throat cut from ear to ear.
These
women jurors found the negro guilty of
assault and murder and he was ordered sent to the
county jail there to await final trial, but the Court
records have never shown that such a trial was held,
for it was whispered that the lynch law took him in
hand and the sheriff was never permitted to reach the
jail with the prisoner or else the Ku Klux Klan summarily
disposed of him.
That
horrible crime was committed on the day after
President Lincoln had been assassinated, April 15th,
by John Wilkes Booth. But in our town and county
there were more tears shed that day for Kitty Austin
than for the martyred President.
- JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.
The
close of the Civil War left in its wake a trail
of poverty and great suffering throughout the fair
Southland. When peace was declared hunger still
stalked abroad in the land and side by side with hunger
walked pride, and together they knocked at the
door of the once wealthy planter as well as at the door
of the poor tenant. There was little money in circulation
at this time and few ways open to earn any.
Poverty reigned king and was a cruel tyrant to his
subjects, and they were legion.
Three
months after the surrender of General Robert
E. Lee, my mother and her three children were in
about as needy circumstances as one would care to be,
though our neighbors were, many of them, much
worse off than we. Such being the case it was more
than difficult to supply our necessities, for the avenues
open to a woman struggling to make a living in the
village where we lived were only such as teaching
and sewing. The girls in almost every home had
been taught to sew, that is, to embroider and do fancy
work, but there was no demand for such work then,
and consequently nothing could be done in that line.
However, "where there's a will there's a way," and
when our soldiers came back home, to find themselves
without clothes except the uniform of gray, often tattered
and torn to rags though always dearly beloved, my
mother bethought herself of a plan to make a little money
for herself and to help the poor soldiers. She decided to
make coats, vests and trousers for them and as they had
no money to pay her then, to wait until the crops were
harvested and take such produce as her little family could
use in the meantime. This meant waiting a long time, for
few soldiers could even get a start that year.
My sister,
the oldest of the children, at that time was
about sixteen, and still continued to help mother with the
sewing. The work was slow coming in and very slow
going out. Each garment was a lesson in tailored work for
mother and sister to learn on, but the prices charged were
so small that it was little more than starvation wages they
were working so hard to make. It took them fully two
weeks to make a suit of clothes, so it needs must take a
long time to do more than keep the cruel despot, hunger,
from entering ruthlessly into this little household. We,
children, were not looking for dress or luxuries; indeed,
we were daily impressed by the fact that our mother was
doing all she could do for us and we were satisfied. Many
and many times have we seen her sit and weep because
we did not have the things she wanted us to have but
could not afford to get for us, but we never dared
complain at our lot, because mother always felt so keenly
our poverty, - besides, we were better off than many of
our neighbors, for our garden
and fruit trees were in a flourishing condition and we
had plenty fruit and vegetables and some to spare.
Meat, however, was a scarce commodity and one that
our soldiers had relieved us of, for, what General
Wheeler's cavalry left, General Johnston's men finished
up, as no one around our village could resist the
appeal of a hungry Confederate soldier, and our meat
was eaten up by them months before the Yankee army
came through our town. A piece of meat was such
a rarity that it was either given to us in small portions
or else it was cooked the second time with vegetables
to give them a seasoning. I never liked it and only
ate it because mother said "children always looked
putty-colored when they never ate meat." Not wanting
to look putty-colored, I ate it. I had a sweet tooth,
though, and loved candy and sugar and the many good
things made with sugar; but, alas, candy was clear out
of reach and the money to buy it was hopelessly beyond
our power of obtaining, so patience was instilled
daily into our lives and "learn to labor and to wait"
was a proverb in our home. I was, however, permitted
to attend school, while my poor mother and
sister made the Professor more suits of clothes to
pay my tuition, than I perhaps deserved. Still, I did
try to learn and managed to stand at the head of my
classes most of the time.
This was in June, in that memorable year 1865.
The Government had sent Yankee soldiers to the village
to rebuild the railroad and telegraph office that
our soldiers had destroyed. One day, on my way from
school, I saw a neighbor's boy, Sandy Hanff, selling
vegetables and fruit to these men. They were living
in tents and as I passed I thought to myself, "we
have plenty fruit and I could sell some things too,
like Sandy, even if I am a girl." I felt sure we
needed the money as much as Sandy did. Without
saying anything to my mother about it, for I felt
intuitively that she was too proud to permit me to do
it, I went home, found a white split oak basket, and
putting some green leaves around the sides I filled
the basket with a gallon or more delicious yellow
plums. Without a word I went back to the tent where
the boy had sold his things and as I drew near the
door I was seized with mingled feelings of shame
and regret, - shame, to meet a Yankee soldier and tell
him I needed money, and regret that I had not told
my mother; so, I ran back again, my heart having
failed me entirely, and stopping, I remembered that
to go back meant failure and no sugar, no meat, which
fact bothered me very little as I said, but my mother
a great deal. Finally I braced up as I ventured rear
the tent, but hearing footsteps again inside I made a
sudden dash for liberty and home. But again I stopped
stock still. By this time my poor little arms were
beginning to ache from the weigh of the basket filled
with plums and I began to think myself a coward,
and remembering about the sugar and the nice candy
it would make, I resolved to go back and sell my
plums. Besides, now I came to think of it, didn't my
dearest friend, Bettie Cox, have a pretty dress and
shoes that had been made from goods her father
bought from the blockade runners, while I had nothing
but homespun frocks, or old store dresses of my
sister's, remade for myself. Remembering this, I
said, "Bettie Lee, don't be a coward, because you
never can wear store shoes and pink gingham dresses
if you don't try again." I smoothed my apron and
homespun frock and looked to see if my shoes were
tied - they were home-made too, and the natural color
of the leather before it is dressed, quite fashionable
now, but to me at that time they were a source of
grief, because of their homely look both in color and
in make. I wanted black morocco shoes: now I had
a hope of getting them, so I ran in again and before
I could turn back I found myself face to face with
a manly form, wearing a Yankee uniform. Seeing
my embarrassment, he relieved me of my shyness by
speaking first and said, "Hello, Sissy, what can I do
for you?" "Will you buy some plums, please sir? I
want to get some sugar, a pink gingham frock and
morocco shoes and, and - ." Goodness knows when
I should have left off my long list of wants, only for
the comical expression I saw on his face, and he
changed the subject by asking my name and where I
lived. I told him my name was "Bettie Lee and that
I lived in the two-story white house on Main street
and the county road."
"Why, you have a good old rebel name, Bettie. Are
you related to the great General Robert E. Lee?"
"Yes, sir, I am, and my brother is named Robert
for him," I answered with pardonable pride.
"Well, why didn't he come to sell the fruit instead
of you?"
"Because he carried our horse and buggy with a
load of things to hide them from the Yankees and he
never came back again."
"Did the Yankees take much from your people?"
"Everything they could lay their hands on," I said
"except what was hidden and what the guard kept
them from taking."
"Did you really have a guard and how did you get
him?" he asked, not in curiosity, but seemed interested,
I thought.
"Well, my mother heard a band playing 'Marching
Through Georgia,' and went right out and asked General
Sherman to send a guard to protect us. I was
walking on tiptoe behind mother, holding on to her
skirt, but she didn't know I was there, when I heard
her ask an officer to have General Sherman pointed
out to her; he granted her request and when General
Sherman rode by, so fine in blue and gold, mother
drew near and asked him with tears streaming down
her cheeks to send her a guard to protect her little
girls. He halted and asked in a kindly voice whether
she had husband or sons in the war and she told him
that my father died in December, '61, that one son was
killed at "Seven Pines" and the other died a few weeks
ago. Her youngest son, a boy of fourteen, had gone
off with her horse and buggy with a party of old men
who had never returned and she feared no word
meant that he was dead. She began to weep again and
that made me weep so loud that she turned and looked
at me, greatly alarmed to see me standing with her at
the head of Sherman's army and holding timidly to the
skirt of her homespun dress. 'Why, my child, what
a dangerous thing for you to do. You might have
been killed from a stray bullet from our men.' 'You
might have been killed too, mother, and if you were
I wanted to die too.' So that is the way we came to
have a guard sent to us, and he did everything possible
to save our things and lots of the things that were
hidden he found and had them dug up and brought in
to my mother. His name was Matthew Bunting, he
told me and that he came from Ohio. We didn't
think the Yankees would be a bit nice, but he was
mighty nice, I thought."
I suddenly recalled the fact that I was talking to
another Yankee and I must not let him think that any
other except Mr. Matthew was worth talking to by
a little Southern girl.
I stopped and began eating a large yellow plum.
He spoke and asked what I charged for the plums.
"I don't know, Mister, just what you think them
worth."
"Here, Bettie, is a fifty cent shinplaster. Take that
now, but try to bring me some vegetables, something
green to eat, lettuce, onions, etc. We can find nothing
for sale like that in this town. For us there is
nothing but meat and bread in this blamed country."
"Why, nobody in town has any meat," I replied.
"Where did you get it?" I ventured to ask, knowing
how much mother wanted meat. "Well, it is shipped
here from Baltimore for the men that work on the
telegraph and railroad."
"I don't like meat at all, but I do like sugar and
candy made from sugar, and that's why I want to sell
the fruit."
"Wait one minute, Bettie," said he, and going back
into the tent he returned with two large pans, one
filled with meat, bacon, and the other with loaf sugar.
"Oh, how lovely," I said, inwardly smacking my lips
at the sight of the sugar. "Oh, how lovely," but
then remembering my mother, I became confused and
said: "Oh, I am afraid my mother will be angry if
I take these things." My friend evidently seeing how
disturbed I was, said: "Well, Bettie, take them anyway,
and if you won't accept them as a gift, bring me
some lettuce or greens of some kind and your mother
will surely not object to that." I thanked him and
asked him, "Who shall I call for on my return?" "Just
ask for Uncle Ned."
I started home feeling as happy as a little girl could
who had sold fruit for such a big price and had prospects
of doing a regular business. Suddenly, I felt
a dread come over me that my mother would not
approve of this thing that I had done and planned to
do as long as the vegetables lasted. Something, I
could not tell what, made my spirits sink quite low
as I entered the gate at home and started up the walk.
I had a choking sensation and tears unbidden began
to well up in my eyes until I could hardly see. I
stopped to brush them away and think what I should
do. I wanted, now that the prospect seemed favorable,
to sell enough truck to buy me a pink gingham frock.
Such thoughts would never have entered my head,
even the day before, with nothing in sight to buy
with, but my visit to "Uncle Ned" had shown me how
I could make money enough to buy myself a dress
and possibly a pair of black morocco shoes too. Putting
everything in the background but hope, I marched
as straight as I could go to my mother's room and in
as brave a manner as I could summon up and without
speaking a word, I placed the basket before her, the
pan of meat, bacon, on one side, and the pan filled
with sugar on the other. On top I had laid the dear
little shinplaster that meant so much to me. I waited
a moment to watch mother's face. She looked first
at the basket, then at me. Then I managed to say:
"Well, mother, guess?" Looking over her spectacles,
a habit she had when she didn't like a thing very well,
she said: "Bettie, tell me what in the world this is,
and where did you get it?" "Taste it and see what it
is." She did as I told her, unwittingly I am sure, and
in a half dazed manner said: "Sugar, as I live, and
bacon, and - and greenbacks. Why, child, what have
you done?" A look of alarm came over her face and
I could see that she was puzzling out the riddle, where
I, a ten year old child, had found such treasures as
she held on her lap. Without waiting longer I went
up and put both arms around her neck and looking
into her pretty blue eyes, I told the whole story of
the plums and "Uncle Ned." When I mentioned his
business of buying supplies for the men working on
the telegraph and railroad my mother became quite
excited and said: "Why, Bettie Lee, you must be
out of your head to do such a thing as to sell our fruit
to those awful Yankees working on the railroad.
The very idea! Why didn't you give the plums to
Doctor Ellington, our pastor? Oh, I am so humiliated
I could almost die for shame." "Now, mother,
Doctor Ellington has no money, no sugar and no meat
either, for I heard Mrs. Ellington say they had none
to even season the vegetables with, except on Sundays."
"Never you mind what they do, you must
carry these things back. I can't let you, a big girl
of ten, go out selling fruit to those horrid Yankees."
I began to cry as if my heart would break, whereat
my sister Cornelia, seeing my distress and after hearing
what an awful thing I had done, and seeing, no
doubt, the sugar and bacon too, begged mother to let
me keep the things, but be sure and send the greens
to the old man as I had promised to do. Nealie always
could make people do what she wanted. Something
in her pretty face and sweet voice always won her
cause. I immediately was granted permission to keep
the things and soon had gathered a large basket of
truck and away I went to carry it back to "Uncle Ned."
Seeing my eyes swollen from weeping, he asked the
cause. I tried to make as light of the matter as I
could, not wishing him to think ill of my mother, but
as he went out to empty the basket I heard him mutter
something like "such pride and poverty as go hand
in hand I never saw before." Coming back he looked
at me in such a fatherly way and I wondered did
"Uncle Ned" have a little girl like me somewhere.
"Well, Bettie, we will settle everything satisfactorily.
Now, you have the fruits and vegetables ready for
me, and I will either send or go after them every
morning about eight o'clock, and so relieve your
mother's anxiety about your coming here." I went
back and reported this to my mother and she promised
reluctantly, to let me do as I had planned to do,
and sell enough truck to buy the pink gingham frock.
On hearing this I had to run and tell Aunt Pallas. I
had no sooner finished my story (and to prove it I
brought the sugar and meat) than Aunt began a perfect
tirade of abuse about the "Yankees" and Mars
Charles Lee's baby "Betsey" selling truck to de Yankees,
and she'd never heard of such disgraceful business
before. "I never specks to git over you a little
chile sellin' dem nice plums and lettuce to de ole lazy
Yankees, and I'll be seized by cats if I ain't
scandalized, - me nuthin' but an ole black niggah. Now,
Betsey, what in the wold all dese yere white folks agoin
to say when dey heah tell of your doins? I'll be seized
by cats, but dis shore do beat all." Whereupon I began
to cry again, for in my mind I saw myself dressed in
the pink gingham frock and all my friends turning
their backs on me. I cried harder and louder than
before and that brought my mother to the kitchen
to see what was the matter. Aunt repeated her words
(somewhat modified though). My mother scolded her
and in a reproachful voice said: "Why, Pallas, this
old man, 'Uncle Ned,' is a gentleman if he is a Yankee,
and will either call or send for the things." In
the meantime, Aunt Pallas began to wring her hands
and say: "Laws a messy, Miss Candace, you shore
do beat all, to take things lack you do. Nobody ain't
agwine to say one word about 'Betsey.' I never meant
dat, but jes wanted to see if de chile was agwine to
stick to what she said. She shore don't have to sell
dat truck while Ime a liven. I'll sell it to de good
fur nothin Yankees myself and bime bye, Betsey,
when you get dat pink frock, dere ain't none of de
chillun aroun heah can hold you a candle to walk by."
"Pallas, I want to have no more foolishness from
you. There is no disgrace in making an honest living.
You know I can't make coats enough to buy
Nealie even a store dress, much less Bettie. Calico
is fifty cents a yard now and will be even higher in
the fall, while I get only four dollars for making a
coat, and now that the other women can make vests
and trousers for their men folks I don't get as much
work to do as I did. If my poor little fatherless child
can sell enough truck to buy herself a frock, you should
be the last one to speak about it. Oh, if Mr. Lee
were only living you wouldn't dare to say such things
to her." Then my mother began to cry. That started
me afresh. Remorse set in again in Aunt Pallas' conscience,
so she wrung her hands and begged my pardon
and promised never again to chide me for being
so smart. Then I forgot my troubles and mother and
I left her to prepare our tea. When the meal was
ready I was permitted to have a large cup of kettle
tea, sweetened to my heart's content, and a thin slice
of bacon, broiled to a turn. Such a thing never happened
before. We children were never allowed to eat
meat for supper because it made us thirsty in the
night and no one wanted to get up out of bed to give
a drink of water to a well child. Never before, or
since have I tasted such delicious bacon. Mother and
"Nealie" relished it so much that I felt pleased to look
at them enjoy it. Even Aunt Pallas said "hit is
mighty good bacon though it ain't been cured in our
smoke house."
- JAMES BALLANTINE.
Next
morning I was called early to help gather the
vegetables for "Uncle Ned." Such a lot of greens
of all kinds must have given the men a nice meal, for
we had a generous supply of everything when the man
called for them. I often wished that day that I knew
how much money he would pay me for them. The
next morning "Uncle Ned" came and gave me two
dollars for the two days' supplies, and such riches,
accumulated in two days, made me feel quite an important
factor in our household. I had almost as much
money as my mother for sewing a whole week. My
hopes rose high and even the pink dress seemed almost
a reality, and black morocco shoes not an impossibility.
So we traded along for a week or more, until
one day I noticed we had gathered from our garden
nearly all that could possibly be spared from our
own table, and then my heart sank. I felt it was all
over for me - no more money, no pink gingham frock,
no morocco shoes, for I knew the ten dollars I had
made was not enough to buy all those coveted things.
I sat down and was having a cry when "Uncle Ned"
came into the garden for his vegetables. I told him
between sobs that our supply was too low to let him
have anything else and how my heart, so set on a
pink frock, was well nigh broken because I did not
have the amount necessary to buy one. "Well, child,
don't cry. I am going to Baltimore for a week or two
and will take your money and order for a dress and
shoes and will bring them back when I return." "Oh,
thank you, Uncle Ned. You can buy much prettier
things there than we could get here, but I hate to
bother you." "That's all right, little girl; you have
worked hard and deserve a pretty dress and I'll get
the prettiest I can find in Baltimore."
I ran to the house and told mother. "I know Uncle
Ned can get your things cheaper and much prettier
in a northern city, but isn't it asking too much of him
to do it?" "Oh, no, mother, he offered to take my
money and buy the frock and shoes for me. I never
thought of asking him first."
Of course, I was anxious for Uncle Ned to leave.
The days seemed long until the eventful day came.
The morning before leaving, he called to get the measure
of my feet. My mother then talked with him for
the first time and upon my request, gave him the hard-earned
greenbacks to pay for my frock and shoes.
When I parted with those crisp new bills of money I
had worked so hard for I couldn't but help feeling
a pang of regret to know that ended my career as a
trader with the Yankees, but when I thought of the
pink gingham frock I cheerfully handed it over to
Uncle Ned. He looked at me, then at my mother.
"Mrs. Lee," he said, "I hate to take this money. Let
me make a present of it to Bettie and I'll bring her a
dress and shoes only too gladly." Mother straightened
up and looked surprised, and with a most offended
air said, "No, Sir, my daughter, though only a child,
cannot accept money from any person, much less from
a stranger and an - an - enemy, like you." Seeing his
mistake he spoke immediately: "Pardon me, madam,
you are quite right and I cheerfully submit to your
wishes." When he was bidding us farewell, my
mother took occasion to thank him for his kindness
to her "baby."
I felt a pang of sorrow at losing "Uncle Ned" even
for a visit. Then he took my hand and in a fatherly
way bade me goodbye and told me to be smart at
school. I watched him, with tears streaming down
my cheeks, leave our home and go to the railroad station,
where he boarded a train for Baltimore. When
the train passed our house I was on the porch waving
at the dear fatherly friend standing on the rear platform,
his hat in his hand, the wind blowing his white
locks, a smile on his kind face. His blue eyes caught
one glimpse of my childish form in the doorway, - and
on the train sped that carried all my wealth farther
and farther away.
I went out to visit "Aunt Pallas" for consolation.
"Now, didn't I tell you 'Betsey,' about tradin' with dem
Yankees? Shore now he's gone, after eatin' up your
truck and got your money too. Honey, you can't fool
dis ole niggah. I dun heard it thunder a long time,
and I'll be seized by cats if I b'lieve he's ever coming
back heah agin."
In my childish heart I resented this and as I remembered
how he looked at me when he bade me "goodbye,"
I saw truth written on his dear old wrinkled face, and
slamming the door of Aunt's room as loud as I could, I
fairly yelled, "I don't care what you say, I know he is
coming back."
While she loved me better than anything on earth and I
loved her very dearly, we usually disagreed before we
ever reached the point of consolation.
A week passed, and no news from "Uncle Ned,"
though I thought of him many times each day. I said
nothing, but every day I ran to the depot to see if he did
not get off the train, and every day I went back
disappointed. My mother pretended not to notice his
prolonged absence. Indeed, I was too proud of "Uncle
Ned" to listen to words from anyone that might reflect on
him. So, out of respect to my faith in him, all kept silent;
even Aunt Pallas kept her thoughts to herself, no doubt at
mother's request. I waited patiently for three weeks, and
as he did not come I made up my mind to stop going to
the depot and watching for him. I felt sure that he had
died and I should never see him again. I felt worse about
that than losing all my money, and the prospects of frock
and shoes.
Not to dwell too long on my misery, for I went to bed
with a sorrowful heart at night and would awake the next
morning with a sadness that made me long to forget
"Uncle Ned" and all I remembered about him and his
kindness to me. Still, I did not give up hope entirely, and
daily prayed for his return, and one day my patient
waiting and prayers were rewarded, for
I looked out the window and there was "Uncle Ned"
coming down the street leading Sandy Hanff by the
hand. They both were carrying an armful of bundles.
I ran as fast as I could to meet them, and grasping
"Uncle Ned" by the hand, I told him in one breath
how glad I was to see him again, "but one day I
thought you had died and left me like my father."
"Well, child, I have been very sick and I came near
dying. I had a bad case of malarial fever. I thought
I'd never see my little Southern children again. I
didn't write as I should have done."
By this time we were on the porch and Uncle Ned,
who was still weak from his illness, sank down on
a chair.
"Now for opening the bundles, children."
Finally, after much pulling and tugging at the
strings, there lay in all its freshness the material for
a frock, all pink, - a very soft rosy shade that I liked
so much. The goods did not look or feel like anything
I had ever seen, and I said: "What lovely gingham!
I never saw anything so beautiful before, Uncle Ned,
and I just think you were too good to buy it for me."
"It isn't gingham, Bettie, but a mousseline something -
I can't remember the name. It is much prettier
than the gingham you had set your heart on and
you can keep it longer, for it is such a soft silk it
will wear well."
In another parcel was a box full of trimmings, velvet
ribbon, white lace, buttons and everything necessary
to make a most beautifully finished gown for
even a grown lady. Then from another box "Uncle
Ned" brought forth the loveliest pair of black satin
slippers with steel buckles. Cinderella's glass slipper
was never so beautiful to her as were my own lovely
slippers.
"Oh, Uncle Ned, I thank you so much I can't begin
to tell you how much I love you for getting me so
many pretty things."
In the meantime Sandy Hanff had opened his parcel
and found a nice suit of clothes, with hat and shoes
to complete his outfit, but nothing could induce me
to leave off looking at my beautiful present. After
awhile the box of French candy absorbed my attention
for a short time. When my mother and sister were
called out and saw my treasures, mother's eyes filled
with tears of gratitude at the sight of my joy. Nealie
kissed me over and over again, she was so happy for
me. Old Aunt Pallas, of course, had forgotten all
she had said about "Uncle Ned" never coming back
and bestowed such praise as only a faithful old darkey
can. From that day on to the day of her death she
continued to sing his praises. It is needless to say
how much I thanked "Uncle Ned" and how much I
loved him for his generous gifts, for I knew my poor
little money had never lasted to buy such fine goods
as he had brought to me.
In a few days "Uncle Ned" was ordered with his
men to the southern part of the state and I had to
bid farewell forever to the dear, kind friend; for I
never saw or heard of him again, but never did I
forget to pray for "Uncle Ned."
- ANONYMOUS.
I went
back to school and studied harder than ever,
because I felt that my mother and sisters were doing
so much for me by sewing to pay for my tuition. I
knew more what the value of money was after trying
to make some myself. However, I was happy as the
day was long and never grew tired of taking out my
treasures every day, and admiring them, and each
time I saw new beauties in them. Two months passed
away and I had asked my mother every day to make
the pink frock for me. Each time she had put me
off by saying, "Wait till your school closes and then
you will have your frock for the exhibition," as we
called the closing exercises. Mother said, "Don't be
impatient, now. You have the goods to make it and
your frock will be the prettiest there."
Those were very happy days, when the anticipation
gave me more pleasure than the reality; but soon
the time came when, from being a happy little girl,
I was to be a sad and greatly disappointed one. As
I said before, my sister Cornelia had a wonderful
influence over the members of the family, and especially
over me. One day when I was busy playing with
my dolls Nealie came in and taking me in her arms
said, "Honey, I have had a letter from Emma Katie
Jones, asking me to be one of her bridesmaids the
tenth of next month. The maids are to wear pink
dresses, but of course, I can't accept her invitation."
"Why can't you, sister?" I asked.
"Because mother is not able to buy me a dress - we
are too poor," she sighed.
At this I felt a great lump rise in my throat and
choke me, for I instantly thought of the pink dress
Uncle Ned had brought to me, and how beautiful it
was, and I wished Nealie had one like it, and in the
fullness of my heart I said: "I wish you had one
like mine, Sister."
She looked sadly at me and with tears in her eyes
and with trembling voice, answered: "Your poor
sister is grown and has nothing decent to wear to the
wedding - " and here she heaved a deeper sigh than
before, and made me choke again when she suddenly
asked, "How many yards did Uncle Ned bring you?"
"I don't know, sister, but I'll fetch it here for you
to see." At this I ran into my room and soon returned
with the goods. When she had counted the folds, she
exclaimed: "There are fifteen yards, fully."
"Oh goody! Enough for us both a frock."
"Oh dear, no. Just enough for a grown person and
entirely too much for a little girl like you." And here
I felt another choking sensation and with it a feeling
that I might have to give up the pink dress after all.
I sat still as if turned to stone, while she looked at
me, her big gray eyes filled with tears, and with a
hopeless voice said:
"I do wish father or Uncle Ransom were alive;
they would get me a pink dress somehow; just think,
Julia Flowers and Nannie Gulley are going to wear
those pink barége dresses that belonged to their
mothers. Do you remember the trunks that were hidden
that the Yankees never found - well, they were
saved in those trunks. Here I am, with nobody to lend
me a dress, while you have all that goods Uncle Ned
brought you. Mother says it will waste it to make you
a frock out of it, too. There will be several yards
wasted - ." Here she broke out into sobs. "If you
loved your sister like I love you, you would let me
have the goods and make a dress for myself to wear
to the wedding, then lay it aside till you get large
enough to wear it. You know I couldn't spoil it by
just wearing it to the wedding. I would give it to
you if it were mine and you needed it, but you don't
love your sister Nealie that sits and sews day after
day for you to go to school. No, don't tell me that
you love me; actions speak louder than words."
I could stand no more, but wept bitterly to be accused
of not loving my sister. I felt then in my heart
I loved her better than any one in the world.
"Yes, I do love you, Sis, but I can't spare my pink
frock that Uncle Ned gave me, and please, oh, please,
don't ask me to give it up."
"Bettie, I wouldn't ask you for the world. You
don't want me to have things like other girls. You
don't care if I go to this wedding or not, and if I
don't go to that I shall never be asked to go anywhere
else. You know Ashley will be groomsman whether
I go or not, and I shall lose him, - and - you know you do
like him; that is, you're always begging me to marry him."
Here she blushed.
I then began to see myself as a very selfish little girl
and my sister grown up and liked well enough by her
friends to be asked as bridesmaid at the grandest wedding
since the surrender and then on account of her poverty,
not permitted to accept the invitation that would give her a
chance to outshine all her friends, besides making her
supremely happy. I saw myself keeping the pink dress for
the close of the school when I had no special way to show
it off other than a recitation or reading a composition, and
then being envied by my dearest friends. I saw myself in
such an ugly picture I did not want to see it again. I knew
I ought to give the dress to my sister, but such a struggle
took place in my heart that never before or since have I
felt quite so bad as I did then. To deny myself the pleasure
of keeping the frock, the pretty pink frock that I loved so
much, was worse suffering than my pen can describe, for
I well knew how difficult it was to get even a cheap frock.
I felt that never again would I get another like the
beautiful one "Uncle Ned" gave me. Oh, what floods of
tears I shed, and my sister wept with me, but insistently
said, "You don't love me. If you did you'd want me to go
to the wedding and have a good time
once in awhile, after all the long years I've sewed so
hard to help you through school and buy your dresses.
Don't tell me you love me for I know you don't and
don't even want me to go to the wedding."
With a wail that came from the bottom of my poor
little aching heart, I sobbed out, "Oh yes, sister, I do love
you. Please take the goods and make you a dress. I don't
care and couldn't ever enjoy it again." Sobbing harder
than ever, I went out to the kitchen to Aunt Pallas for
comfort and laying my head on her lap I told her my
trouble. She cried with me, but said: "Let Pussy have it,
honey. She's a grown woman and you know you'se only
a little gal, and you do wants her to be de belle an'
outshine Miss Nannie an' Miss Julia at dat big weddin,'
for nothin' but de quality'll be dere. I'll make you some
nice candy right now." But I didn't even care for that, and
went into the garden and walked up and down the walk,
but everything there reminded me of "Uncle Ned" and
caused more heartaches and such a lonesome feeling that
I came to the house, went to my room and to bed, where
I sobbed myself to sleep. Many times I awoke with a
start, to cry myself to sleep again. My mother was
greatly distressed and Nealie, too, so they told me
afterwards, when I could bear to talk about it without
tears, how mother upbraided my sister for being so
heartless as to think of taking my frock away from me.
The next day I felt more reconciled and after my sister
and mother begged me to keep the goods and I begged
them to say no more about it but cut it then and there,
they both decided to do as I wished. I steeled
myself to look at the beautiful rosy material without the
tears filling my eyes, though I am certain I swallowed
them, for I took a sudden notion to run out into the yard
when I knew
they were about to begin to cut into the goods. I saw
them through the window begin the sewing, then I
ventured in and sat down in my little chair and watched
them sewing and fitting it. I had many pangs - like the
loss of something held dear but would not have back
again.
Oh, how beautiful Nealie looked in that pink dress!
Her complexion, so fair always, seemed more beautiful
and radiant and soft, with a faint rosy tint reflected from
the dress. I watched and enjoyed seeing how beautiful
and happy my sister looked, even in the fitting, and I
thought how much happier she would be at the wedding.
The day finally came when my sister was preparing to
leave for the wedding. I sat in her room and saw her
pack her trunk and when the tray was put in that
contained the pink gown, I slipped quietly away to my
room, and opening the closet door, took down the box
with the slippers in it and crept back to Nealie's room
again.
"Here, sister, take these slippers. Your feet are small
as mine. I have no use for them now," and throwing my
arms around her neck, gave her such a hug as must have
told her I did love her, and with a wail of sorrow that
seemed to say I had given all I had to her, I ran out to my
room and knelt down and asked the good Lord to make
me willing to give up my frock and slippers to my sister
and to keep me from being a selfish little girl ever again
and to make me happy over trying to make Nealie happy.
My prayer was answered, for I felt a peace come
over me that filled my whole being with joy.
The wedding came off and "Nealie Lee" was said to
be the prettiest girl present, and of course, her dress,
next to the bride's, was the most beautiful.
When she came home and threw her arms around me
and said, "Oh, Bettie, darling, you are the most unselfish
girl that ever lived, to give up that beautiful dress and
slippers to me. I didn't deserve them a bit. I was the
selfish one to take them from you, but oh, they made me
so happy. I did feel so well dressed, and, and, - " she
stammered, "everybody told me how nice I looked. I
know you must love me dearly, too. Forgive me, Bettie,
honey, for talking like I did to you. But I want to tell you a
little secret - Ashley Sidney admired the dress more than
anyone," here she blushed deeply and stammered:
"and - I - I have promised to marry him. You know you
like him and always said you wanted me to marry him;
and think, dearest sister," giving me a kiss, "Ashley might
never have asked me, only for the pink dress and - my
little sister Bettie's sacrifice."
- MCDONALD.
"After
Darkness comes the dawn," so after the
reconstruction days had passed, came sunshine again
into our old North State, and our county, especially,
had rebounded from the evils of the war. The few
young men of the gallant "Fourth North Carolina
Regiment" had returned to their homes after the war,
to turn their hands to the work nearest them; but all
work is not good even for rebel soldiers to have for
a steady diet, so when a feeling of stagnation seized
them, one more bright than the rest, suggested that
they meet in October and hold a tournament in Clayton,
to crown for queen of love and beauty the fairest
daughter in the "Old North State." This announcement
was made months before the tournament was to come
off, and notices were sent to the various state papers
to that effect.
I was attending school in those days at the Academy,
where Professor John M. White was principal;
he was one of the kindest of men. His patience was
a beautiful example for his pupils, who did not appreciate
this noble man for all he was worth. He had
taken great pains with me in Algebra and Latin, two
studies that were most difficult for me to master, but
his efforts were not rewarded as they should have
been. I was about fourteen at the time of the
approaching tournament, tall for my age, with
large brown eyes, that were my only good
feature. My nose was too small, my mouth
too large, and added to that my age. I had not a
single thought of any honors for myself, but I could
not help feeling sure that Nealie would wear enough
for the family. She had developed into one of the
most beautiful girls in the "Old North State." Her
beauty had gone abroad in the land; wherever she went
strangers never failed to inquire who the beautiful
young lady could be. None were ever disappointd,
but many were greatly surprised and greatly admired
her surpassing beauty. If I could draw a pen picture
of her I should be able to depict the masterpiece of
old North Carolina. Her hair, face, figure, all seemed
as nearly perfect as ever came from the hands of our
Maker. Her beautiful brown, wavy hair, so like my
mother's, was touched with a glint of gold, which
shone out in the light like a ray of sunshine in a darkened
room, yet you never thought for one moment
that her hair was other than soft sunny brown, though
there gleamed always the golden tints in certain lights,
and one of her chief charms was the sunlit brown
hair, which fell in soft ringlets, when not confined
around her alabaster brow. She wore her hair parted
in the middle and coiled low on the nape of the neck,
leaving a peep at a shell-like ear, her large clear soft
eyes, shaded by a fringe of dark lashes, were as blue
as the "azure depths," but when aroused grew dark
as the turbulent waters of a stormy sea. The nose
was a perfect Grecian, much like my dear mother's
also, the delicate nostrils showing such sensibilities
as a great artist would love to paint. A rosebud of
a mouth, teeth so regular that they seemed truly a
part of a beautiful picture, and that picture a beautiful
reality. All of these set in an oval face of pink and
white, completed the picture, together with a figure
of medium height, well rounded proportions, such as
I can remember, is a feeble attempt to draw a pen picture
of my sister Nealie at the time of the great state
tournament at Clayton, North Carolina, on the twenty-first
day of October, eighteen sixty-nine.
The day for the tournament dawned brightly beautiful,
with a crispness in the air to give greater zest
to the sport. Soon the sleepy old town of Clayton
was astir with signs of bustle and activity.
Old family coaches whose steps folded up and with
rumbles in the back, now rolled into town, with trunks
fastened on them. Many of these had never been seen
since before the war. Then came young men and girls
riding on horseback, who alighted and sought seats in
the grand stand. The crowds grew dense, the streets
were black with people, all making for the race track,
and never since Sherman's army came through Clayton
was the old town so full of people.
The coaches and people came from every part of the
"Old North State," and were the elite of the South.
The judges and Knights were composed of the representative
men from the different parts of the state.
The Knights from our town and county were Ashley
Sidney, Nat Tomlison, John Dodd and Jesse Ellington.
Wake county was represented by Bijou Satre, John
Johns and Sim Pool. George Battle from Rocky
Mount, Archie Rhodes from Wilson, Billy Hinton
from Wilmington, Hardie Horne from Fayetteville.
Ashley Sidney, our townsman, dressed as King
Henry of Navarre, looked regal in his purple velvet
costume with gold trimmings, white silk stockings,
helmet with white plume waving in the breeze, white
gauntlets, completed the costume of this regal looking
knight. He was a handsome man, with bronzed
complexion, a merry twinkle in his dark brown eyes,
that caused many a lassie to look at him more than
once. Ashley Sidney was one of the boys who had
followed "Ole Mars Robert" for four years "nigh
about," and only left him when Lee surrendered.
He had come home ragged and barefooted, to find
work enough to keep him busy for the next few years.
However, a chance to meet some of his old comrades
again made him take the leisure to enter this contest.
He was the crack rider of our county, and even the
whole state had shown no better. So it was with
unbounded pride and admiration that our people
counted on his winning first honors, even the state
papers had mentioned him as a possible winner. If
he looked handsome as a ragged, barefoot soldier, he
looked kingly as this knight of olden times.
Ashley had known Nealie from her earliest childhood,
and in his own quiet way had loved her, but
not wishing to render her more uncomfortable by
marrying her in haste, as he wanted to build a little
nest for her. It was an understanding between them
that when he was able they would be united, although
he put no restrictions on her going and coming with
other young men, though the family knew he hoped to
marry her some day. So when the tournament had
been arranged to come off at Clayton everyone felt
sure that our town would carry off the first honors,
and that Ashley and Nealie both would be the ones
to wear them.
Ashley rode a milk white filly, called "Snowball."
She was a blooded mare and showed it in her every
movement. He had spent much time in training her
for the tournament, besides that she was considered
about the fastest mare for her size in the state, and it
would have to be a very fine racer to beat "Snowball,"
so our people said. She came from that great family,
"Godolphins" Arabian, who have so many racers to
their credit.
Nat Tomlison, from a few miles out of Clayton,
but living in Johnston county, represented a Knight
of "The Star and Garter." He was a fine looking
fellow, and in the costume of blue velvet trimmed in
white lace, white silk hose, with large diamond buckle
on garter and diamond star on heart, helmet with blue
plumes, and white gauntlets, made another handsome
knight. His horse was brown with a white star in
forehead, a showy looking animal with a long mane
and tail, plaited and tied with blue ribbons. Her
name was "Brownie."
Jesse Ellington, another knight, handsome of face
and form, appeared on the list as "Knight of Lochinvar,"
in Scottish plaids and kilts, looking the part of the young
chieftain to perfection. The horse he was riding was a
blood bay, with white stockings, a handsome animal and
quite spirited looking. He was called "Lucky Boy."
Hardie Horne as "Knight of Isabella," was costumed in
black and yellow satin. He was riding a claybank gelding
of unusually good style, called the "Emperor."
Bijou Satre came out as "Richard, Couer de Leon," in
black velvet and gold lace, a helmet with a gold plume
made him an attractive rider, mounted on a coal black
horse, restless and very spirited, well named as "Black
Diamond."
John Johns, "Knight of St. Thomas," wearing sapphire
blue velvet, trimmed in white lace, helmet with sapphire
plumes. He was riding a reddish sorrel horse with
white feet, a red mane and tail. She was a racy looking
little thing called "Beauty."
Sim Poole as "Knight of St. John," wore a magenta red
velvet, trimmed in white lace, helmet from which
depended a long magenta plume and white gauntlets
completed a very effective costume. He rode a roan
colored mare with a short bob tail, with "Queenie" for her
name.
Billy Hinton from Wilmington was wearing an emerald
green velvet costume, and as "Knight of St. Patrick," was
appropriately dressed. He rode a bay gelding with long
black mane and tail, with a great deal of style, called
"Erin."
Archie Rhodes from Wilson, "Knight of St. Anthony,"
was in golden brown satin, and helmet with golden brown
plumes. He rode a bay mare with black markings,
"Jewel" by name.
John Dodd of Raleigh, "Knight of St. Thomas," wore a
grey satin costume with silver trimmings, and rode a grey
horse. A quiet looking horse, though a good runner,
called "Cyclone."
George Battle, as "Knight of St. Louis," did great credit
to Rocky Mount, his home. His costume was gorgeous.
A rich scarlet velvet, trimmed in silver lace; helmet with
scarlet plumes. He rode the "Princess," a beautiful bay
mare with dappled spots, showing great spirit and
training.
The "Unknown Knight," whose identity was unknown,
except to the judges, was costumed in white and gold
satin, which set off his handsome form to perfection; the
helmet, white, with golden plumes, white gauntlets,
though a small black mask covered his eyes and mouth,
completed the most elegant costume of all the knights.
He carried at first a shield of gold and on it was
emblazoned the coat of arms of North Carolina.
The "Unknown Knight" had evidently come from a
distant county, for no one seemed to recognize either
horse or rider. He was riding a chestnut filly, as neat and
trim a little animal as ever entered a race; she was well
groomed, and truly a thoroughbred; her flaxen mane and
tail were both cropped after the English fashion; her head
was small, the ears also, and keenly pointed, which she
held well forward;
the eyes large and intelligent, seemed to bespeak
your approval; the neck long, arched
and small, she carried well up, and needed
no check rein; her limbs were small and
sinewy, small feet, with hoofs so polished that they
reflected the objects around; she was not a restless
steed, but on the contrary would close her eyes and
rest whenever an opportunity presented itself, but once
started on a run you could see every movement was
filled with life and quivering with suppressed energy.
A word or touch of the spur acted like magic, and
like the wind she gathered her powers from some
source that seemed to increase when called upon.
As the "Unknown Knight" sat his horse as part
of himself, one could not help seeing how both horse
and rider were as graceful, in every line, as ever rode
through old North Carolina. The cavalier was never
stamped more plainly on any one than on this stranger
knight.
The course to be run was around the race track. An
arch had been built across the track where the finish
was made. From a cross bar at the top were fastened
at regular intervals, four iron chains with hooks. At
the lower end of these hooks were suspended as many
iron rings two inches in diameter, and could be easily
lifted off by the lance, which measured about ten feet
in length.
The knights were to put their horses in a run and
come with full speed from the quarter stretch to the
finish, then poising their lances, lift the rings
from the hooks as they rode underneath them. Each
rider was assigned a number and position, by drawing
for them. The judges and grand stands were opposite
the arch, and gave full view of the knights as
they finished their run. The knights making fastest
time and the ones also taking a ring at the same time
to be counted as winners.
- SIR WALTER SCOTT.
The
hour had arrived for the races to begin, and the
great bell hanging near the judges' stand began to
clang, its very tones vibrating with martial sounds,
as it seemed to bid the knights to come forth and
show the crowd that the days of chivalry had not
passed, and to bid them all a cordial welcome. Clang,
clang, clang it kept repeating, its tones gradually dying
away as the notes of a bugler clad in armour rode
forth filling the air with the "Turkish Reveille." Following
in his wake came the noble knights in such a
blaze of light and color as to cause the multitude to
shout for the very pleasure of looking upon such a
gorgeous spectacle.
Twelve knights mounted on their restive steeds,
whose trappings were in keeping in color with their
masters' costumes, were riding four abreast; each
thoroughbred showing they were perfectly at home
on this circular course. They pawed the soft earth so
disdainfully and picked their dainty little feet up as
daintily as a grand dame might have done.
"Snowball," "Black Diamond" and "Brownie," coquetting
as it were, with the others. They were the favorites
of that vast throng, as they halted in front of
the judges' stand to receive the instructions and rules
of the tournament. The young ladies in the grand stand
had suddenly become so much interested and excited
in the "Unknown Knight," he could not pass without
such applause and waving of handkerchiefs as must
have gratified his vanity. The very fact that he was
masked made him more interesting to each girl, to
say nothing of the curiosity inherent in us all.
The Knights then drew a number and had a position
in the race assigned to them, then clapping spurs
to their chargers, they each in their respective positions
made a dash around the track. With the long yellow
lances glittering in the bright sunlight, like burnished
gold, poised in the air, ready for the tilt when the
rings would be lifted off the hooks. These grand
knights, looking like they belonged to another age
and people, made a gorgeous spectacle, and one long
to be remembered by those fortunate enough to be
present.
The race track was a mile around and gave a test
of speed and physical endurance to both horses and
riders. The rider having to maintain his position on
the course and the posture of his lance to catch off
the rings as he passed under the arch.
After a dash around the track, the first division
of Knights was called. These four made a great show
of starting, and after three attempts they came down to
the arch together, the flag was lowered and the starter
cried "Go," and away they went at full gallop, "Snowball"
on the outside, "Black Diamond" next to her,
their contrast as it were making a foil for each other's
beauty. "Brownie" was in third position, while "Erin"
had the inside of the track, making a shorter distance
for him to go, besides giving him the advantage.
The horses were in good shape, barring a curb that
"Erin" carried on his right hock, they all looked
to be in perfect condition. There was little difference
in the time they were making, and only at the quarter
stretch did they begin to make an effort. "Erin's" master
making a plunge forward that put the others on
their guard, and each in turn, either by spur or bridle,
increased their speed. Then a nose would be seen in
front, sometimes a head, then the withers, and with
lengthened strides, each movement brought them nearer
to the arch. Then came "Snowball," the radiant, darting
a luminous light, and shot past the others, her rider
poised in position, his golden lance like a ray of yellow
sunlight, gleaming along the track, wrested the first
ring from the hook. "Black Diamond," his coat of
glossy black glistening like a sheen of satin, began to
forge a trifle ahead, with "Erin" close to his heels, but
suddenly "Brownie," beginning to warm up to her
work, rushed past "Erin," and side by side with "Black
Diamond," the twain came thundering down the
stretch, and nearer and nearer to the finish. The arch
was almost reached, the riders had assumed the posture
for taking off the rings, when "Erin's" rider's
lance slipped from his hand as he was tightening his
grip on it and struck "Black Diamond," causing them
to rear up and in consequence losing the rings.
"Brownie's" rider made a dash for the arch, and with
his steady hand and eye lifted the ring on his lance
and was accorded second place, amid loud and prolonged
applause.
Then they made their way back to the paddock to be
prepared for the next race. Nealie and our party were
so excited we could hardly sit still for fear our favorites
would not win. "How glad I am to see Ashley
win the first race, for he has tried so hard to make
this tournament a success," she exclaimed. "I am certain
he will win easily," I replied. "But see there
are other good riders too," she remarked.
A few moments more and the old bell began to clang
again, saying to the knights now entering the track,
"Come try your luck."
Next came the second division of knights.
"Beauty," a red sorrel, whose coat was a sunny red,
was a dainty little thing, with a big white star in
her forehead. She tossed her proud head as if in
defiance of her competitors.
"Queenie," a roan, not pretty to look at, but once
on the run was a graceful racer.
"Lucky Boy," a beautiful blood-bay gelding, whose
lines were built in a more generous mould, was a racy
looking fellow.
"Cyclone," his mate in build, was a grey with dapples
so dark that all the ladies exclaimed, "O, how
beautiful!"
These four knights were accorded unstinted applause
as they passed the grand stand. When the bell tapped
they were in position, and the start was made on
the second attempt. The race was between the pairs,
"Lucky Boy" and "Cyclone" on the outside, neck and
neck, while "Beauty" and "Queenie" were side by side,
near the rail. The half mile was made with no effort,
but when the three quarters was reached, "St. Francis"
put spurs to the "Cyclone" and he shot out like a
bird, and getting his position for the arch he gracefully
picked off a ring, amid the shouts of the beholders.
"St. Thomas" took another ring at the moment
"Queenie" reached the arch, and her master vaulted
lightly in his saddle and took another. "Lochinvar"
had "Lucky Boy" well in hand, but a swerve of the
lance and he missed the prize, as his friends groaned
at this "unlucky boy."
Again the gong sounded and out rode the last division
of knights.
First came the "Unknown Knight" mounted on
"Sunbeam," "Jewell," ridden by Knight of "St.
Anthony;"
"Princess" Master, Knight of "St. Louis,"
and the Spanish Knight riding "Emperor," a black
stallion.
These four were gorgeous in costumes and trappings,
and elicited round after round of applause. The
signal was given and they made the start that sent
them off on the first trial. The crowd almost held its
breath in anticipation of the finish. "Sunbeam" shot
out like a veritable sun burst on a cloudy day, her
master gently holding her back. These four kept
together until the quarter was passed. The crowd
yelled louder and louder, calling for their favorites
to come in first. "Sunbeam," with no more effort than
a ray of light makes to pierce the darkness, simply
made one headlong leap and she was a length ahead
of her rivals; the "Unknown Knight" vaulted lightly in
his saddle and slipped off a ring so easily that shouts
from the crowd rent the air. Following closely was
"St. Louis" on "Princess," the grey mare. He sat as if
a part of the steed, and with a slight rise in his stirrups,
he also lifted a ring. Then "St. Anthony," on
"Jewel," clapped spurs to his charger, and with his
gilded spear gleaming in the sunlight, he too carried
away another ring. "Knight of Isabella," riding the
Emperor," barely missing by a slight swerving of the
lance.
The vast throng by this time was in such good
humor with everything that they accorded to these
four knights such prolonged shouts of approval
it was easily seen that more than one would be a
winner from this division.
A rest was allowed for grooming and getting ready
for the trial and test race. Such chattering among the
ladies. "Now who in the world is the "Unknown
Knight?" Isn't he handsome even with his mask
hiding so much of his face?"
"I wonder if we know him," was whispered among
the fair ones. We all made guesses and bets as to
who he might be, but no one knew or would tell, so
our curiosity only gave greater enjoyment to the rare
sport.
The band played "The Sweetest Girl in Dixie," and
the gong called forth the first division for the second
race. "Henry of Navarre" entered, followed by "Star
and Garter," "St. Patrick" and "Richard, Couer de
Leon," when the bell again tapped for them to
start. "Snowball" was first in her place, and
steadily kept the lead. This was a beautiful
race, even if no rings had been taken, and
the spectators nearly shouted themselves hoarse, calling
for their favorites to come in first. As the horses
neared the arch, each rider arose as one man to get
more perfect poise of lance, and at the same instant
all four were at the arch, ready with four lances glittering
as one. "Henry of Navarre" reached and took
another ring. "Star and Garter" a second, but "St.
Patrick" and "Richard," "Couer de Leon's" horses
became frightened and bolted from the track, much to
the regret of all present.
Then came an ovation to "Henry of Navarre" as he
rode off the track, and Nealie and I were by no means
silent, but cheered and waved our kerchiefs as he
passed.
Then the gong sounded again, the second division
of the second race came forth. "St. Thomas" in the
lead, followed by "St. John," "St. Francis" and
"Lochinvar." As the first quarter was passed "St.
Thomas" gathered "Beauty," the sorrel filly, up with
his reins, and with a touch of the golden spurs, she
shot out like a cannon ball, passed the little "Cyclone,"
as the knight lifted his lance and took off another
ring. The other knights failed to take a ring, though
they made one of the fastest records that day. The
applause grew louder, and waving of flags and handkerchiefs
continued till the knights had disappeared
from the track.
After a wait of fifteen minutes the gong sounded
again, and out rode the third division in the second
race. Not one, but all four seemed a favorite as they
rode by the grand stand; they were massed as one,
and the horses kept themselves on the alert as it were.
"Sunbeam," "Emperor," "Jewel" and "Princess" were
each quivering with suppressed energy. The nearer
they drew to the home stretch, and as each rider, prepared
for taking a ring, faster and faster flew their
chargers until with a bound and a tilt the arch was
reached and the "Unknown Knight" and "St. Louis"
each carried away a ring.
Such applause as now rent the air, seemed deafening
and bid fair to continue as long as these handsome
knights remained on the track.
Then another wait of fifteen minutes, during which
the judges declared that time would not permit more
than one other race before dark, and decided to have
only the ones who had taken rings first, and made
faster time, enter this contest, and that the first ones
under the arch to take off a ring, should be declared
first winners. This seemed as much a race of speed
as of skill in poise and directing the golden lances.
The excitement even increased, if that were possible.
The bell tapped as these gallant young knights
passed the grand stand, their horses as it were keeping
time to the strains of "America," inspired each
knight to win for his fair lady. By this time the
sporting blood was aroused, and every one was beginning
to make bets, even the girls were wagering bon
bons, handkerchiefs, etc., etc., while the men were
playing for larger stakes.
The "Unknown Knight" was not a favorite among
the Clayton men, because he was masked, but they saw
he was skillful and even better than their best. They
were jealous for a stranger to come in and win the
laurels from the home talent, but still it must be a fair
field and no favorites, even if the stranger did carry off
the first honors. So when the judges named the "Unknown
Knight" winner of the first honors there was
applause, but when "Henry of Navarre" came second
they yelled louder and showed they would have liked
him for first.
On investigation it was found that the "Unknown
Knight," "Henry of Navarre," "Richard Couer de
Leon" and "St. Thomas," had made faster time to
the arch and had been first to lift a ring from the
hook, so they were to ride for first honors, in the
same order as the time they had made.
A more beautiful sight I have never seen than those
four knights made as they rode forth to win. The bell
tapped amid the shouts that filled the air and away
went the brave riders. "Henry of Navarre," "Richard
Couer de Leon," "St. Thomas" and the "Unknown
Knight," their horses almost touched each other,
and faster this time than ever, their nostrils
dilated, until they seemed living coals of fire;
their every nerve so tense, they stood out like
whip cords, as nearer and nearer to the quarter
stretch they drew, hardly a hair's breadth ahead, yet
the faster their fiery steeds seemed to fly, the nearer
they kept together. At one time "Snowball's" nose
seemed to indicate that she was ahead, and then such
wild shouts for "Henry of Navarre!" "Come on,
Henry, you can win easily, let "Snowball" out and
come on!" "Snowball" - so each one seemed a favorite
as their friends shouted themselves hoarse for
them, such a ride to the finish has never been seen
since. "Black Diamond," at one moment seemed to
be a fraction ahead, then "Cyclone," but "Sunbeam"
had never in the slightest changed her gait. Her
master knew she was doing well so remained perfectly
passive, indeed he might have been an automaton
for anything he did, until "Henry of Navarre" sunk
the golden spurs deeper into the quivering flesh of
"Snowball" as she bounded a length ahead, the "Unknown
Knight," with a gentle motion of the bridle,
gathered the reins and like a steam engine, she
let go her pent up forces and gave a sudden burst
of speed that made the spectators wild, as "Sunbeam"
neared the arch. "Henry of Navarre" and the
stranger Knight so close together, it was as one to
the onlookers. So they continued to ride neck and
neck almost to the finish. "Sunbeam" felt "Snowball"
almost touching her flanks, and with ears
pricked up, eyes dilated, every sinew quivering the
two riders touching, almost, they reached the quarter
and assumed the poise for the taking of another ring,
when a flaw of wind blew the mask and caused it to
cover the eyes of the "Unknown Knight," as he was
on the outside and nearest the grandstand, the spectators
shouted for another chance to be given him,
apparently heedless to everything but the work he intended
"Sunbeam" to do, he dropped the reins from his
left hand and in the twinkling of an eye, adjusted
the mask in its place as they neared the arch. With
wild yells of approval at this master stroke, the crowd
shouted "The 'Unknown Knight' wins!" Standing in
his stirrup he whispered one word to "Sunbeam," "go,"
one touch of the golden spur and she bounded a length
ahead of "Snowball" who, with the instinct of her
thoroughbred nature, and blowing her hot breath on
"Sunbeam's" neck, with all the strength and force
within her, struggled to keep the lead, but even she
had no more reserve force, and was compelled to drop
a length behind. "Sunbeam" felt the guiding hand of
her master, whose calm and gentle touch like an electric
charge sent renewed vigor and life into her quivering
nerves. One second more and she would reach the
arch, and with the hot foam burning her neck she
shook herself clear of her rivals, the "Unknown
Knight" still standing in his stirrups, the golden lance
clutched tightly in his right hand, and with one mighty
bound "Sunbeam" reached the goal, and her master
took off the coveted ring - he a winner of first honors
and she the queen of racers.
- OWEN MEREDITH.
The
four knights with faces flushed, great beads
of perspiration standing on their foreheads, but
smiling, rode up to the judges' stand, where the
names were read out, for honors, the "Unknown
Knight," first; "Henry of Navarre," second; "Richard
Couer de Leon," third; and "St. Thomas," fourth,
amid the deafening shouts of the multitude.
The successful knights then were given laurel
wreaths, which they placed on their spears and riding
around to the grand stand, the "Unknown Knight"
scanned the blushing faces of all this bevy of pretty
women, finally his eyes rested on Nealie, and without
another moment's hesitation he dropped the wreath at
my sister's feet. Blushing deeply she stooped, picked
up the wreath and placed it on the golden lance. The
"Unknown Knight" then placed it around the neck of
"Sunbeam," as if to show how much he appreciated
her efforts at helping him win the first honors.
Next came Ashley Sidney, as "Henry of Navarre,"
but with such a scowl of dissatisfaction on his face that
strangers wondered what had happened to cloud his
erstwhile handsome face. Then looking up and down
this line of beautiful faces, he finally moved along and
deposited the laurel wreath at the feet of Miss Nannie
Johns, the belle of Wake county. She colored up at
the honor, and with a bow and a smile, placed the
wreath upon his lance.
Then came Nat Tomlinson, the third knight, and
looking as if to find the one pretty face among the
bevy of beauty, he dropped the wreath at the feet of
Miss Julia Ellington. Following him rode forth the
last of the victors, and with a happy smiling face, his
golden lance let fall the wreath at the feet of Mollie
McCullers. She too accepted, with visible pleasure,
the honor Mr. Bijou Satre conferred on her. Following
the example of their chief, each knight placed the
wreath of laurel around the necks of the faithful
steeds, that had made it possible for them to win. The
four champions clapped spurs to their horses and
away they went around the track again, amid the
shouts and applause of the multitude. I was sitting
near Nealie and her friends and felt quite as pleased
as if the honors had been mine. Glancing at
her beautiful face, aglow with joy and excitement,
I thought he could not conscientiously have done
other than to crown her the real Queen of Beauty.
She was surrounded as usual by a number of admirers,
of both sexes, who had enjoyed everything to the fullest
that day so long to be remembered by us all.
After awhile I arose and slipping in a vacant seat
near her, took her hand and said, "I am so glad."
She whispered "What will Ashley say? He told me
he meant to crown me, but Bettie," she murmured in a
low tone, "I could not resist, when the successful
knight scanned the faces of this galaxy of beautiful
women and laid the wreath at my feet, do anything
else but accept the honor, for I consider it the highest
compliment to be chosen Queen, when there are
others more beautiful than I, besides I know the
"Unknown Knight" is a gentleman, for the committee
have had all the names for a month, and none but
the best from the "Old North State" were permitted to
enter the contest." "You ought to be the Queen
because you are the very prettist
girl here," I
remarked.
"I am so glad, just think Bettie what it
means for a rank stranger to select me from among
all these pretty girls," she replied. "Well, you are
the very prettiest here, to my thinking, sister," I whispered.
"Oh, pshaw, that's because you love me so
much." Here she gave my hand a little squeeze. Just
then the chairman of the committee came up and said,
"Ladies, I wish you to remain seated a few moments
longer. I wish to present the Knights to you, so you
may make all suitable arrangements about the ball this
evening. The Queen, Miss Lee, lives here in Clayton
and will take pleasure in telling you how to find
the things necessary."
My sister knew all the maids, except Miss Johns,
and as the introduction was being made she took
occasion to invite the maids to our house to take supper
and dress for the ball, as the hotel accommodations
were very poor. They seemed pleased to be the guest
of the Queen and have a chance to talk over the all
important matter of dress for the evening.
"Oh, Col. Fairbault, please tell me who my gallant
Knight is, and what's his name, and where's his
hame," my sister pleaded.
"Here they come; allow me, Miss Lee, to present
Mr. Howell of old Wake county, of course you've
heard of Tom Howell many times, for his fame has
gone abroad as a tournament rider."
Then each maid met her knight. Tom Howell came
up, flushed with his success, as handsome as Apollo,
his classical face was not more handsome than
his manly form. There was a personal magnetism
about him that he impressed on every one.
To me, a miss of fourteen, he appeared a veritable
king, even Ashley Sidney, whom I had always thought
so handsome, faded now into an ordinary looking
man.
After the introductions were over and these royal
personages were arranging to escort the ladies to
our house, I slipped away unnoticed to help Aunt Pallas
prepare supper, and tell her all about the "Toonamunt,"
as she called it.
"Well, I allus knowd Pussie wuz de purtiest child
her mammy ever had, but you poah little ugly Betsey
shor'll never be a Queen."
"Well, I'm glad somebody in the family is anyway,"`
I curtly replied, not relishing the fact that I was so
ugly that I never could be a "Queen."
- THE FLOWER AND THE LEAF.
That
evening I was called upon many times to help
the Queen and maids array themselves in all their
finery. My sister Nealie had made a simple white
mull, not knowing that she would be the most honored
lady in the state that evening at least, and her beauty
was the more enhanced for this very simplicity. The
filmy mull had a touch of old Brussels lace, the waist
made with a round neck from which fell a bertha of
the same. From the short sleeves depended a fall
of this lace. The skirt was tucked with insertions of
the same. She wore no jewels save a necklace of
pearls, that had belonged to my father's mother, and
had been saved for us by Mr. Bunting, the guard General
Sherman sent to us. Her beautiful sunbrown
hair was done in a Psyche knot, with masses of little
curls peeping out. When I tied the white sash around
her slender waist and saw reflected from the mirror
the most beautiful vision of loveliness I could not
help feeling a pang of something akin to envy, and
I know the other girls felt the same.
Nannie Johns wore a pale pink lute string silk with
cream Spanish lace trimmings. Mollie McCullers
was gowned in pale blue organdie. Julia Ellington
looked lovely in a white dotted swiss trimmed in Valenciennes
lace.
When the omnibus drew up to our gate and these
gallant knights took their Queen and maids to the ball,
it was truly a novel sight. When they reached the
ball room all the balance of the knights who had contested
in the afternoon, met them at the door and
escorted the party to the platform, where the judges
were seated.
Col. Fairbault arose as these couples drew near,
and in a few remarks, complimented the knights on
their excellent taste in selecting these beautiful girls
to wear the honors, and as four little girls preceded
them, dressed in white, bearing crimson velvet cushions
on which were resting the jewelled crowns. The
Queen's was a fac-simile of Queen Victoria's, the
others more like the ducal coronets.
When Col. Fairbault finished his speech, he took the
crown and presented it to the knight, who then placed
it on the brow of my sister, Nealie, each knight crowning
his fair lady; then the Coronation March was
played by Johnston's band from Wilmington. This
grand march was led by the successful knights and
ladies, Tom Howell and my sister leading.
Ashley was jealous of another winning the coveted
prize of crowning the Queen of love and beauty on
this auspicious occasion, especially since that one was
the girl he had loved so long. Still there was enough
of the chevalier in his make up to bear the disappointment
without an outward sign to his opponent. So
much for the schooling he had received while being a
soldier in the war; and the old saying "that all's fair
in love and war," made him willing to give this stranger
a chance to meet and possibly win the girl he
loved.
As the evening advanced my sister Nealie remarked
to Mr. Tom Howell, "It was so kind of you to crown
me Queen, when I was a stranger and you knew Miss
Johns, too. I can't understand why you selected me,"
she innocently remarked. He simply remarked, "Why
does the magnet turn to the pole?" She ignored this,
but when the next waltz with Ashley, he said, "Nealie,
I can't bear to see you with Tom Howell, and I want
you to tell me tonight, that my love for you all these
years is not in vain, that a handsome fellow like Howell
can't come in and win you from me. Promise me
now that you will marry me before the winter is over.
I can make you comfortable and I will not let a
stranger come and take you from me. Promise me
now to be my wife. I can't have Howell and myself
both paying court to you at the same time."
She looked up into his lovelit brown eyes and saw
there a love that only death would obliterate, and
answered timidly, "I will be your wife, Ashley, never
fear Tom Howell. I am not so fickle as you may
think."
That night when Mr. Howell escorted her home
from the ball and was ready to leave, he asked, "Miss
Lee, will you permit me to visit you sometime in the
near future? I must see you before long, don't put
it off." She hesitated, and then remembering how
long he had loved her and how loyal Ashley had been,
replied, "Mr. Howell, you have paid me the highest
compliment by crowning me Queen of this ball, and I
sincerely thank you and greatly appreciate the honor,
and I offer you the hospitality of my home at any time,
but I must be frank with you and tell you that I am engaged
to Mr. Sidney and will be married very shortly.
I could not embarrass you this afternoon by refusing
the crown, but thought the easiest way was to
accept it. Again I thank you very much." He took her
hand and pressed it, as he said "Farewell, Miss Lee, I
envy Sidney more than you'll ever know," and he was
gone.
- GEORGE ELLIOT.
It
took the staid little town of Clayton some time
to recover from the effects of the great state tournament.
Such a grand event, gave the inhabitants food
for gossip for many months, the pride that each one
felt in living in such a town as had immortalized itself
by such deeds of knight errantry, showed either in the
conversation or the manner of our people. No other
town in the "Old North State," before nor since the
war, had been able to do more than show little
riding contests, but to give a tournament in
regal costumes, and then the Queen being a native
of that town and the second best rider a resident
from his birth, was enough to make Claytonites
so exclusive that many years passed before they even
cared for the town to grow any more lest they would
blot out the old race track or destroy some other landmarks
of past greatness; indeed no one wanted any
strangers within her gates, for we were sufficient unto
ourselves. Ashley and Nealie, however, decided to
marry at an early day, while I continued to trudge
daily to the old Academy to learn what Prof. White
could teach me.
The wedding of Nealie and Ashley was quietly
celebrated, both of them preferring it should be so.
The ceremony was performed by Dr. Ellington, and
they went immediately to the little home he had prepared
for her.
My mother did not give her up willingly, for her
children were so much a part of herself, it was like
tearing her heart out, still the nearness to our home
and the good man she was getting made her see the
wisdom of such a choice, and put no obstacles in the
way.
It was odd to see such a "queen among men," as
Nealie had always been, settle down to domestic life,
and seem perfectly happy with the admiration and
love of one man, for she had played with many a
young man's heart, though I believe she was always
sincere and honest in it at the time.
There seemed so few ways of amusing ourselves
after the tournament, that our young people had recourse
to many things, but everything seemed tame
compared to that great event. Yet we girls were still
hoping that something equally as exciting might come
along, though the only real excitement was caused by
"trying our fortunes" in various ways. The first day
of May was auspicious for such things as looking in
the well to see our future husband reflected from a
mirror, which we held over the well; sometimes a face
would be reflected and sometimes, the old maids tell
us, that a coffin would appear instead, and that was a
sure sign that we would always remain single, but
another better and surer way "to try our future" was
on Hallow E'en. One of my friends told me of such
a new way, that we made up our minds to try it when
Hallow E'en came. Addie Terrel came over to see
me and said:
"Well, Bettie, tonight is the time to try our fortunes
and see if we are ever to marry, or are doomed
to be old maids." "Are you going to try it the egg
fashion?" I asked. "Yes, we both have to cook an
egg and peel it, then cut into halves, taking out the
yolk, filling the whites with table salt, and eating these
without drinking one drop of water, or other kind of
liquid, and going to bed to dream of your future husband
giving you a drink of water, and which if given
in a gourd means you will marry a poor man, but if
given in a glass, means he will be rich. During the
whole time you are preparing the egg, both of us have
to do everything at the same time, for instance like
both taking hold of the egg and both putting it on to
boil, both taking it out and both peeling and cutting
it in two, and eating it also at the same time, but be
sure to keep silent, for if one word is spoken from the
beginning until the night is over and you have
dreamed, the charm will be broken, and it will be no
use to proceed further with trying to find out who our
future husbands will be, and whether we shall marry
rich or poor men."
It was one of the most difficult feats I ever tried
to perform, to keep from speaking, and to keep from
laughing was even worse, and I am sure we did snicker
once or twice before we finished our repast. We both
dreamed, but my friend's dream was easily interpreted,
for the young man that gave her the drink
of water was one we both knew.
"Well, Addie" I said, "my dream is so confused
I can't interpret any of it, except I was given a drink
of water in a glass mug, with the handle broken off,
so I think that signifies that he will not be so very
rich after all. The young man was handsome, though,
and his genial nature shone out even in my dream,
but I am sure he will belong to the circus or something
queer, for he was riding in one of the oddest
looking turnouts I ever saw. Oh, pshaw, I wish I
had dreamed of somebody I know, like you did."
How much of this strange story became the truth,
I leave my readers to find out.
Two shall be born, the whole wide world apart,
- SUSAN M. SPALDING.
The
day was glorious, flooded with sunshine and
melody. The song birds were singing their sweet
songs of love to their listening mates. The very air
was filled with music, for every little warbler in that
vast forest was sending out a roundelay of song. The
sky was perfectly clear and the "azure depths" so
far away seemed that nothing could cast a shadow
over them.
From the West came a rumbling noise, and presently
a beautiful pair of blooded bays came into view,
drawing what might be a circus wagon, or a wagon
from the fire department. The noise and rumble interrupted
this musicale that the birds were giving, and
disturbed the harmony of all nature on this peaceful
day.
Seated upon a curiously constructed vehicle were
two men on a high driver's seat. One was a young
man, apparently about nineteen, and a colored driver.
Coming near the cross roads, the driver looking up
asked, "Which road mus' I let de hosses take, Mars
Jess?" "Oh, it don't matter, Henderson, give the
horses the reins and let them go the way they will,
it's all luck."
The driver then slackened the reins and the horses
stopped a moment, looked down the roads, and with a
toss of the head, the leader started, the off horse looked
approvingly at the other, and they both started down the
East road.
"Henderson," said the young man, "I believe they have
taken the Smithfield road, but I reckon it is as good as the
Fayetteville, and we shall find as much work on it."
"I think we have several hours of hard driving before
we reach a town or village, suppose you let the horses
step along some."
Then they lapsed into silence for a few moments, but
the young man, evidently of a happy turn, began to
whistle, "Won't You Love Me, Mollie Darling," which
tune he continued to whistle until the song-birds of the
forest had long since quit their warbling to listen to this
strange music that filled the air. Finally he stopped and
said, "Henderson, tomorrow is Sunday and we must stop
at the first village we reach. I don't want to spend Sunday
with the farmers."
"Dat's right, Mars Jess, dey shore ain't no fun hangin'
around dese piney woods, and I sutlinly hope you'll get to
a town." "Yes, Henderson, you want to get where you
can get something to drink." "Yas, sar, I don't mind if I
do, seeins how hit's Sunday and dere ain't no place for
me to 'tend church."
Then the young man began to whistle "Molly Darling"
again, and only the rattle of the vehicle and the barking of
a dog now and then broke the stillness.
The horses were a pair of beauties, deep blood bays,
with a white star on forehead, the only touch of color.
The limbs were small with black markings, the long
flowing mane and tail giving grace to their movements.
Their heads were small, - keen pointed ears
standing straight forward, with mild eyes, though
spirited looking. They were well rounded and sleek
as satin, and it was hard to tell which was the faster.
Such a perfect match had not been easy to find, and
the young man seemed to know it and look upon them
with eyes that bespoke how proud he was of
them. The young man himself was well
worth looking at. He was a fair haired youth, with
clear healthy complexion, a nose rather aquiline, deep
set blue eyes, a brow that was broad and full. The
mouth was well shaped, the corners of which turned
up, giving his face a mirthful and happy expression.
He was smooth shaven, and showed a chin that was
well shaped, though not prominent; while it could not
be called weak, it lacked fullness to show a more handsome
face. His form was of medium height and his
massive military shoulders and chest showed such a
fine development that he appeared less tall than he
really was. His arms and limbs were muscular, as if
trained in a gymnasium. His hands and feet were
noticeably small. Altogether he bore the marks of
aristocratic breeding and a highly refined face.
Still they continued on their way, and the shadows
lengthened until the sun, no longer visible, had sunk
behind the western hills. The cotton fields, now in
full flower, were being deserted by the darkies who
had been chopping cotton all day, and still no town
or village seemed near to the travelers. Finally Henderson
called to one of the hands to know how much
farther he had to drive to reach town. "Jest about
two miles," was the answer.
The tall pines standing as sentinels along the road
side were no longer to be seen, and in the distance
might be seen the little town of Clayton. Henderson
drove along the main street until he reached a hotel
of rather poor pretensions. Alighting, the young man
went inside for a moment and asked if he could be
housed for the night and next day, with accommodations
for both horses and driver. An answer in the
affirmative was given him, and he went back to his
team and vehicle.
In the meantime a large crowd of boys had gathered
to find out what this oddly built carriage was. One
boy, more inquiring and curious than the others, could
not resist asking, "What might this be, Mister? Are
you with a circus?" "No sir, I am not now, but I
don't know how soon I may be."
He was busy unlocking something like a chest, and
from this vehicle he took a banjo. The urchins still
consumed with curiosity, and not getting any satisfaction
from the young man, the same interrogator,
not liking to give up, blurted out, "I'd give a yoke
of oxen to know what this thing is." "Well, if you
won't ask any more questions, I'll tell you." "No, I
won't ask any more if you tell me," said he. "Well,
it is a Thunder Pole Wagon," said the young man,
whereat the poor chap looked more puzzled than ever.
Some one in the crowd cried out, "He means a lightning
rod wagon." "Smart boy, go to the head of the
class," said the owner, whereupon he set to asking
questions himself about the size of the town, the
churches, etc. The wise young man answered his
questions, and when he told him that there were two
churches, a Methodist and a Baptist, our friend said,
"Bully, I'll get to go to church tomorrow anyhow."
"Yes, but not till after a big baptizing comes off at
Stallings Mill Pond, then Dr. Harrell will preach at
the Baptist church." "Dr. Harrell, did you say? Why
he married my sister and was living in Selma when
I heard from them last, but then old preachers are
kept moving around. Where do they live?" His informant
told him how he might reach the home of
his sister.
"Any pretty girls around here?" asked our young
friend. "Oh, a few, but they most all have fellers."
"That so? Huh! I don't mind to meet a fellow if I
can get to see a pretty girl once in a while," said he.
"Well, Dr. Harrell's girls are mighty pretty, and lively
to beat the band, but our native born pretty girls are
Lizzie and Evelyn Creech, Bettie Stallings and Bettie
Lee." "Why so many Betties?" "I don't know but
I reckon it was the fashion to name 'em Bettie at
that time." "Which is the prettiest one?" "Well,
that's according to your taste, you better see 'em first."
After his baggage had been removed and Henderson
given directions where to take the turnout, the
young man went in the hotel and going to the register,
took the pen and wrote upon a clean page, "Jesse Mercer,
Wilson, North Carolina." After supper, taking
his banjo under his arm, he started to find his sister's
home, they were more than surprised to see
him, his evening was spent most pleasantly, as the
girls were very fond of music and he was too, they
all made merry till late that evening.
"Well, girls, what are you going to do tomorrow?"
asked Jesse, as he was leaving. "Going to the baptizing
at Stallings Mill," they both cried in one breath.
"Very well, I'll take you on my lightning rod wagon,"
said he. "Oh no, Uncle Jesse, we're sorry, but we
can't go with you, for we have planned to go with
Vic Thompson and Bettie Lee in his dump-cart," said
Ida, the oldest girl. "The dickens you are, and who
is Bettie Lee?" "Oh, Jesse," said his sister Ann, "she's
the prettiest thing you ever saw in your life." "She
has big brown eyes," said Rosa, "and she has skin
as white as a snow bank," said his sister Ann. "She's
tall and slender," chimed in Ida, "and has a beautiful
nose, though very small and a large mouth, but she
is really a pretty girl, but Uncle Jesse, she can't sing
a note, for father tried to test her voice to sing in
the choir and she broke down and cried before us all
and couldn't even sing the scales." "Well, I don't
care, Jesse," said his sister, "you'll fall in love with
her the moment you lay your eyes on her." "Golly,
but I'd like to see her. I can hardly wait till tomorrow."
"Well, she has lots of beaux, and that's why
she is going with Vic to get rid of the whole
bunch for one day." "Oh, we are going to have a
picnic in that dump-cart," said Rosa. "Vic is my
sweetheart now, but every now and then he goes to
see Bettie and tells her how much he loves her, but
she just laughs at him and tells him she knows he
has had a falling out with his sweetheart. She likes
him too well as a friend to let him mistake friendship
for love, and he always keeps her for a friend, and
she looks upon him as a confidant and true friend."
"Well, I am going to find some of her beaux to go
with me to the baptizing, and see what they say about
this beauty."
"Well, Uncle Jesse," said Ida, "Bettie would rather
run out to keep the calf from drinking the milk than
to entertain a porch full of young men and lose the
milk. Why I declare, Uncle Jesse, father was there
and saw her look out on the street and see a little calf
get out of a pasture and run to its mother and begin
to drink the milk, when Bettie jumped off the porch
and ran at the top of her speed, she can run as
fast as a race horse, to separate the little old calf from
the cow, and a half dozen young men there too. Why!
I wouldn't do that for every cow in the world."
"Well that's all right, I'm more anxious than ever
to see her."
- PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.
Sunday
morning dawned in unclouded splendor.
I was up betimes getting ready for the baptizing.
Two
years had passed since the tournament, and as
Nealie had since married I was the only child left
with mother. I was still going to school at the old
Academy, and had about finished the course. I had
grown tall and my dresses now were made more like
a grown lady's. A new white pique dress made for
this occasion was in the very latest Raleigh fashion.
A Basque reaching well below the hips with bell
sleeves, an overskirt, almost reaching to the bottom
of the skirt, all of which were trimmed in white
fringe. I wore a "follow-me-lads" of cardinal red
ribbon fastened around my neck, a small bow in front
with the streamers half a yard long tied at the back,
and which continually blew in the breeze, so that the
lads could not help seeing and following the wearer.
I wore a large hat, called a "sundown" of white straw,
trimmed with a wreath of daisies. When I had put
the finishing touches on my toilet I felt that I was
well dressed, if not pretty; a thing I never could
hope to be, but the consciousness of being well dressed
in the latest fashion, and everything to match gave me as
much pleasure as if I had been beautiful.
My mother came in to see how the new outfit looked,
and to caution me not to let the sun shine on me and get
my face sun burned. "Now Laura, be careful and don't
get sun burned, because your skin is dark enough anyway,
and a girl looks so unladylike tanned. Your hat will shade
your face some, but I told Victor to be sure and carry an
umbrella so you girls could be protected from the sun."
Looking out of the window, she exclaimed, "Here is
Victor now with the girls, calling you." Kissing my mother
hurriedly I ran out to the street, when I found the little
dump-cart, with my friends ready to pull me up. Vic and
Rosa sat in little chairs in front so that he might drive,
while Ida and I sat in small chairs back of them. We
really were packed in like sardines in a box, but still that
made it all the funnier for us. The little two wheel cart
was drawn by a pretty brown horse that Vic had raised.
She was fat as a butter ball, but a good traveler. Rosa and
Ida were gorgeous in pink and blue lawns. Vic with a
white duck suit and straw hat, gave a rather attractive
look to our homely little turnout.
As soon as we started, Rosa said, "Uncle Jesse is here
and wanted us to go with him on his lightning rod wagon,
but we wouldn't miss this fun for anything." "I told Uncle
Jesse how pretty you were, Bettie," she continued to
rattle on, above the din of the cart.
"Uncle Jesse is the funniest thing you ever saw,"
said Ida. Still I only pictured an elderly man. Soon we
were well on the way to Stalling's Mill, people were
driving in all kinds of vehicles, some few walking. The sun
in the meantime had grown hotter, though there was quite
a breeze now and then. Remembering what my mother
had said, that I must take care of my complexion, Ida and
I found the umbrellas and brought them forth. Much to
our amusement Vic had found two that were worn out,
but for the fun of it we hoisted them to let in the sun in
streaks. Finally a big flaw of wind turned them inside out,
and then our fun increased. We shouted with laughter,
and continued to keep the umbrella frames over us. When
we were passing other vehicles we sat perfectly still and
never so much as smiled, but out of sight we laughed until
the tears ran out of our eyes.
Hearing a loud rumble and seeing a cloud of dust rising
back of us, we dimly discerned the outlines of a strange
turnout. "Why, that's Uncle Jesse now on his 'Thunder
Pole Wagon,' as he calls it," cried Ida in high glee. "Yes,
look Bettie, he has Ben Yelvington and a crowd of the
other boys." By this time the horses of the "Thunder Pole
Wagon" were at our very back, and looking up and
expecting to see a middle aged man, I was astonished to
behold a handsome young man, his whole face aglow
with mirth and good humor which seemed to radiate on all
about him. Catching sight of our would-be umbrella-shades,
turned upside down, he simply shouted with
laughter, but remembering we were young ladies, and one
that he had never met before, he lifted his straw hat
and called out, "How dye children! How are you this
morning? You look like you feel pretty salubrious."
"Your friend and admirer, Ben, is looking to speak
to you, Bettie. Why don't you look at him?" asked
Rosa. So glancing timidly I saw Ben's smiling face,
and bowing to him, I caught another glimpse of
"Uncle Jesse," who was trying to get Ben to start
up a conversation with me, to give him another chance
(I suspect now) to see me better. I chatted on, and
felt my face turning crimson, from the gaze of this
handsome stranger, or no, was it sunburn? Of course
it was sunburn, I told myself.
"Say, Ida, don't you ladies want to stop at Stalling's
well and get a nice cool drink of water?" "Oh, yes,
Uncle Jesse, we are dying for a drink," and then she
winked and nodded, which he returned.
"Oh, maybe you want to drive ahead," said Vic,
"if you do, go on, we don't care." "Oh, not for anything
would I drive ahead and get these pretty girls
all covered in dust, besides," he added to Ben, "we
couldn't see them without getting kinks in our necks."
- GUY ROSLYN.
In
a few minutes we had reached the Stallings' home
and in the yard near the roadside was a well of water.
Stopping the horses, Ben said, "Let me run and draw
the water and give the girls some." "Not much,"
said Uncle Jesse, "I planned that to meet the pretty
girl in the cart." So jumping from his high seat, he
went to the well and drawing a bucket of water, gave
a broken glass full to each of us, as often as he could
persuade us to drink.
"Uncle Jesse" was duly presented to me and began
immediately to say nice things; of course I pretended
not to notice, but as I looked at him, I saw something
in his face that I had never seen before, something that
told me that I could love him. He left us and went
back to his "Thunder Pole Wagon," and the remaining
short distance was spent in composing ourselves
for the religious exercises. When we reached the
pond, we alighted and went down to the water's edge
to watch the baptizing. Vic tied his horse and walked
down with Rosa. Our umbrella, a thing we now
needed, was of no use to us, but "Uncle Jesse" had a
brand new one and begged to be allowed to hold it
over me, while Ben protected Ida from the sun's fierce
glare. "Miss Bettie, I beg your pardon, Miss Lee,
why did you and Ida inconvenience yourselves by riding
in that horrible dump cart when Ben told me you
had 'dead oodles" of fellows anxious to
bring you
in
some more comfortable buggy or other carriage?"
"We thought it would be fun and a novelty too, to
drive out in a dump-cart and, not to be bothered by the
young men, but just have a good time, you see. Not
much of an excuse to be uncomfortable," I continued,
"but just because we wanted to do it." "I never could
live in a town near you and let you do such a thing,
Miss Bettie, I mean Miss Lee," he said again. "Don't
bother about Miss Lee, just call me Bettie or Laura,
or Betsey." "All right Miss Betsey, may I call on
you this afternoon? You know who my people are
in Clayton and in the state, so don't treat me like a
rank stranger, please ma'am," he pleaded. "Very
well, Mr. Mercer, you may call," but just here came
the candidates for baptism, and Doctor Harrell with
them, and the conversation ended abruptly.
Dr. Harrell was dressed in a long black robe, bare
headed, holding in his hand a stick with which he took
the depth of the water every few feet. Following
him were forty women and men walking by twos, all
singing, "Wash me and I shall be whiter than snow."
Whereupon the whole crowd joined in excepting myself
and a few others. "Why don't you sing, Miss
Betsey?" said Jesse. "I had throat trouble for years
and lost my voice and can't sing." "Come, join
in the chorus any way," he urged.
"No, I beg you not to ever ask me again, because I
am liable to break down and cry if you do," I said.
"Not for worlds would I bring a tear to those pretty
brown eyes," he replied.
We hushed again to look upon the water of the old
mill pond, now bearing on its bosom the precious souls
that had been freed from sin, by the Doctor dipping
them down into the water and bringing them up
again and pronouncing the words, "I baptize you, my
sister, in the name of the Father, Son and Holy
Ghost, Amen," and then singing a verse of "Whiter
Than the Snow."
After the forty had been immersed in this Jordan,
we sought our carriages and went to the Baptist church
where Doctor Harrell preached a sermon.
"Uncle Jesse" held the umbrella over me every time
he had an opportunity, and I did not object, but rather
liked it. Of course all the nice things he said about my
beauty I simply took for flattery, and it made no impression,
except to remind me how homely I was when
compared with Nealie, and I never believed it, whenever
I was called pretty, for I could see the difference
in her beautiful face and my own.
- CHARLES SWAIN.
That
afternoon I had barely finished dinner when
I saw Mr. Mercer coming up the walk. He was just as
smiling and happy looking as ever. I had my mother to
meet him and she soon left us to ourselves. "I have
never seen a girl before that I wanted to make my
wife. It is rather a short time to say this to you, but
believe me, it is a case of love at first sight. I never
believed it before, but, Miss Betsey, I feel like I have
known you always and always loved you."
"I beg of you not to say those things to me," I nervously
replied, "I am only a child yet and I hope not
near through school, though I doubt whether I can
ever go away and leave my mother alone, even to
graduate."
"I know you are a child, and I am just nineteen in
November, but since I have seen you I can promise
you to work hard and in a short time be able to make
you comfortable."
"Do you know, Miss Betsey," said he, "that my
horses helped me to find you? There is no getting
away from it, they brought me to you and luck, that
is all the luck I want - to know you and win you, and
I'll be happy till I die. Then he told me how they
came to the cross-roads, and the driver asked which road
to take and he said " 'Let them take the road they will,
and that will be luck,' and here is my luck to know you
and to love you. Oh, how I bless the day they brought me
here to you, Miss Betsey!"
"Oh, don't talk of such things," I replied, "I am too
young to listen."
"I can't help telling you," he replied, "it is now so firmly
rooted in my heart and mind that you are to be my wife
some day, I can't resist talking about it. Won't you try to
love me, Miss Betsey, if I prove myself worthy? Promise
me that you will." I felt then in my secret thoughts, that I
not only could love him, but did love him, as I had never
dreamed I could love any man. Yet I must carefully
guard that secret, for I well knew it would not do to let
him know it. He wooed me that Sunday afternoon with so
much ardor that I must have let him know in some way
that it was not against my own heart to listen to his
pleadings.
"Why, Mr. Jesse, you talk this off so glibly to me, I am
sure you are accustomed to tell every girl you meet the
same thing."
"I will admit I am fond of girls and often say pretty
things to them, but I never have, as I hope to die, said the
same things to them that I say to you, and ask you to be
my wife. 'Tis true I am in no position to marry you yet,
and some one else who doesn't and can't love you half
like I do may marry you. No, I must have you some day
for my wife, whether you say 'No' now will make no
difference. Later on, I must call you my own."
I felt myself being drawn irresistibly to this stranger,
and that he was but speaking from the depths of his
heart, but when I remembered that I had been brought up
to look upon marriage as a step to be taken, not lightly,
nor hurriedly, I knew that I ought not continue to listen to
such words from him.
I had one beau that I had known since childhood days,
and I had begun to look upon his visits as tending towards
marriage, but he knew I was still in school, and would not
dare to offer himself then, still as I thought of Richard
Madison then, I knew that I did not love him and only
mistook friendship for love.
"You must give me time to think over all you have
said," I ventured to remark. "Very well, I shall be here
and in the vicinity for several days, as I find plenty of
houses that have no lightning rods. I am doing this work
because there is a big profit in it, but every house I put
rods on I am cutting out of the business for future needs,
so you see it must be only a stepping stone to another
business. I am working now for money to engage in
manufacturing later on."
As he was rising to take his leave, he asked me, "Miss
Betsey, may I take you to church tonight?" I had to say
"Yes," despite the fact I thought I was being "rushed" a
little too much.
When I told my mother of this, she said, "I am
surprised at you, but as you have promised and we know
his sister so well, you may go." On the way home he
wanted to get back on that subject of the afternoon, but I
managed to steer him into another
channel, by talking of his adventures in the lightning
rod business.
When I bade him goodnight at the door, he took
my hand and gave it a gentle pressure.
Monday morning I was on my way to school, and
I had to pass the hotel and there, sitting talking to
a crowd of young people, was my more than friend.
Seeing me, he jumped over the rail of the piazza and
said, "Good morning, 'Merry Sunshine,' let me carry
your books," and with an air of proprietorship he
took my books whether or not and off he went with
me to school. On bidding me adieu, at the door, he
said, "I am going out in the country for a few days;
may I drop in to see you some evening after I get
back?"
"I am sorry, Mr. Jesse, but I never see company
during the week. My studies are too hard for that,
besides my mother objects."
- DUNLOP.
Somehow
from then on I could not study without
every little while thinking of Jesse. I began to wonder
if he was saying the same things to the other girls
he had said to me. I was in love, I felt sure, and to
think I was just sixteen and never would be permitted
to think about him if my mother knew of it, and
I had always been candid with her in regard to my
liking for young men. She wouldn't even tolerate
a thought of marriage with any of the boys that she
knew, much less a stranger. I was glad when the
studies were over for the day and when I passed the
young people at the hotel, they all began, "Say, Bettie,
that young lightning rod agent is crazy about you.
He had not talked of anything else up to the time he
left."
"That is the truth," said the proprietor, who happened
to be on the piazza at the time.
"He has the worst case of love at first sight I
ever saw."
"Oh, look at her blushing, why I believe you are
in love, too!"
So I heard nothing else but my new beau.
After I reached home mother said, "Laura, I have
been up to Mrs. White's to-day and she was telling
me that the young man Mercer, who took you to church
last night, was telling the other boys they would better
look to their laurels, for he was going to marry
you if you would have him. Now that beats anything
I ever heard of! Such children as you both are.
Why, he has nothing to marry on and it is ridiculous,
and you want at least two more years at school before
you graduate." I colored crimson, I am sure, for
there came over me a feeling that I didn't care to
graduate after all the coaxing I had done to get her
to spare the money for that purpose.
His nieces then came in and began, "Mrs. Lee, you
will certainly lose Bettie now, for 'Uncle Jesse' says
he can't live without her." Here I felt my face a
blaze of fire again. "Well, he will have to live without
her for a while at least." I knew every word of such
talk would only make my mother more opposed to
him. I tried to shut off the conversation, but in
a short time it turned back to the same subject.
The days seemed interminable, and yet I ought
not to want the stranger to return, but I could not
help it, and hourly hoped to hear that Jesse had come
back to town again. He did not return till Saturday,
and soon after his arrival in town, he called to see
me on his way to his sister's. I tried not to show him
how glad I was to see him, and yet I am certain he
did see it, for he looked more like he was certain of
his ground the more he saw of me.
- ALFRED TENNYSON.
The
days flew by until Jesse had done all the work in
town and had to bid goodbye to us for he was going to
Fayetteville from Clayton, and then into South Carolina.
"Miss
Betsey, I am going to write you," said Jesse,
"will you answer my letters?"
"I think
not, but I will ask my mother and Prof. White,
and if they consent, I'll be glad to do so," I answered.
I asked Prof.
White first. I believe there was method
in it, for having gotten his consent, I had no trouble in
getting my mother's. Professor, when asked, said: "I can
see no harm in it, and it will be the means of helping your
diction and composition."
I immediately told my mother that Mr. Mercer wanted
me to answer his letters and I had asked Professor, who
seemed to think it might help my composition, etc.
"Of course, if Professor White thinks it is all right, I
will say nothing that will keep you from it, only I think
you might learn all that from the Professor himself
without having to correspond with a stranger."
"Well, Miss Betsey, won't you promise to marry
me before I leave you?"
"No I can't make such a promise, for I could not
keep it if I did," I replied.
"Well, remember this, I am coming back to claim
you as my wife some day, so farewell and remember
I'll always love you. I can't think of anything else
but you. I am not fit to attend to my business, but
hope when I get away I may be able to buckle on
the armour again, and get to work for your sake, darling,"
and snatching my hand he impressed a burning
kiss upon it, and as soon as he had gone I kissed
the same spot.
There were hours of untold misery for me, for I
felt this love for him had crowded out all desire for
anything else, and yet I knew it would take years to
overcome a feeling of prejudice that I saw had filled
my mother's mind, due to his being so young, and a
stranger too. A letter came in a few days, filled with
nothing of his travels or ought else to benefit me, but
his love for me, just a heart burdened with love
for his child sweetheart, and all he proposed to do for
making me his wife very speedily. I had so many
questions asked by my mother and Professor about
the style of letter that Jesse wrote I had to pretend
it was not worth keeping and I had destroyed it.
Soon after it another one came that did contain some
news item which I took pleasure in regaling to my
people.
He wrote more regularly than was necessary for a
correspondence that was not intended to improve my
composition and rhetoric, for I answered his letters at
intervals, and always avoided the subject of love.
My mother still discouraged the idea of a regular
correspondence with a comparative stranger, and my
being only a school girl yet, made each letter I wrote
a hard struggle. It did not seem right for me to want
to disobey her, and I felt that this young stranger
was so much a part of my future happiness that I
dared not think of the future without him. As I had
always been obedient, I wanted and intended to do
as my mother told me, still there was a hungry feeling
of love for this young man, and a craving to
see him again.
My old friends and beaux continued to pay me
steady attention, as if no one had ever broken in
upon our serene life, yet I could not even bear the
thought of their love for me, or that I ever could have
cared for them. Mother had always said I was too
young to think about such things, and surely she had
been right, as I knew now, and if right in the past,
she must be right now.
I think, however, my mother knew too much about
human nature and young girls in particular to set
up an opposition to him, and hoped that time and
absence, those great healers of so many love lorn
maidens, would do more for me than any words she
might then say.
His letters continued to arrive, but I did not hurry
in replying, and began trying to gradually drop the
correspondence, and go on with my young friends, as
though I had never met Jesse Mercer. I was determined
to thoroughly test myself and know whether
this feeling for a comparative stranger could be love,
or was it a girlish infatuation. My heart only quickened
at the mention of his name, and a nameless something
spoke in every fibre of my being, that I could
not love any other man, and if I did not marry him I
should never marry any one. In those days a Southern
girl was rarely single at twenty years of age.
Many of my friends marrying as early as fourteen,
and few later than seventeen.
- REV. CHAS. WOLFE.
Dr.
Harrell's family all knew that Jesse was deeply
in love with me and that he had asked me to marry
him, that we had corresponded and that I was still
going to church and parties with young Madison, who
seemed to never let me miss anything for the want
of an escort, and indeed was a regular visitor at our
home. Ida Harrell, knowing this, and wanting to keep
her uncle from being discarded, wrote and fully
acquainted him with all my movements. Then Jesse
not liking to hear such things, determined to give me
a little of my own medicine so he wrote and told
Ida that he was stopping in a town where he had
met a beautiful girl, much like me, especially her eyes,
and that she was a lovely musician.
Whereupon on receipt of his letter, Ida came
straight to see me and tell me "that Uncle Jesse was
engaged to a Miss Jennie Stewart, of South Carolina,
a perfect beauty, though she has eyes like you. He
just raves over her."
I felt a lump rising in my throat, and it was by an
effort of great will power that I controlled myself, so
that she might not notice it.
"I am so glad to hear it, Ida, and hope Miss Jennie
may be as good a wife as she is beautiful, don't forget
to congratulate him for me," I replied.
"Well, Bettie, I am so sorry you went back on
Uncle Jesse for he will make somebody a good husband,
and we all thought he loved you better than
anybody else."
I answered quickly, "Oh, 'somebody,' as you say,
will love me just as well and make me much happier,
for I couldn't bear to have him travel and leave me
at home, as the lightning rod business demands."
- THOMAS HAYNES BAYLEY.
That
night I retired early and wept so bitterly at
hearing of his love for another girl, that I well nigh
made myself sick. Surely now, I knew that my mother
was right, and knew more of the ways of young men
than I did. After a struggle to give him up or not,
for I felt that just a line from me might change all
this, I called my pride to my aid and said, "No, never
will I drop him another line, unless he makes the
overture first. If he can so easily love another girl,
after his protestations of undying affection for me
in such a short time, I can crush down the feeling I
have for him and simply look upon him as one dead,
the memory of whom would be as an oasis in my
darkest hours."
Ida constantly heard from him and never failed to
tell me of his continued stay in this town where Miss
Stewart lived.
I had the happy faculty then of adjusting myself
to my surroundings as young people usually do.
Sometimes on Sunday afternoons I had as many as
fifteen young men to see me at the same time. They
were not all suitors by any means, but I seemed to
be the kind of a girl who could talk to them all and
no one seem to be the favorite. Why should I not
be able to do that, when the one I dared not now love
was still the one that would have been the favorite
if, ah, that dreadful "if."
In the year following my first meeting, when the
horses brought to him "Bess and luck," as he termed
it, a large party of twenty young people were invited
to visit the State Fair at Wilmington, guests of a
house party of one of my friends. Richard Madison
was there, my gallant chevalier, and was so
devoted that his relatives thought we were engaged,
and teased us accordingly. I was trying to learn to
love him, for he was a bright, promising young scion
of a good family, but I never could get the consent
of mind to think I loved him well enough to marry
him. When I analyzed my feelings there was something
that insistently told me not to promise to marry
him, as much as he urged; but wait, that Jesse still
loved me. He had quit writing, and I never heard
where he was or what he was doing, but after our
party left for the Fair I was informed by my mother
that Jesse Mercer had been in town and was greatly
disappointed at finding me away. When I heard that
he, my own boy lover had been back to see me, even
though I was absent, I felt so happy that I wanted
to sing for joy.
I began to see things in a rosy color again, and
down in my innermost soul I felt that all was not
over between us two, that he would surely come back.
In a few weeks this came to pass. Richard Madison
had taken me to Liberty Church to hear a revivalist.
Instead of listening to the sermon the young people
usually sat in the grove and chatted, and ate lunch
of fruit or watermelon. The young men sat in the
buggies with the girls that they had taken, and if
these couples were oftener thinking of what the
young men said, than what the preacher had, it is
not to be wondered at. While Richard and I were
thus occupied, I heard a voice that thrilled me, and
on looking up, there stood Jesse Mercer beside me.
The same bright, cheerful smile radiating on all
around, just as before. Richard, of course, hated
him too much to offer his seat beside me, so finally
Jesse said, "I just stopped over from train to train
and must catch the 1 p. m. express for Charlotte, a
pressing business meeting calling me there tomorrow."
Upon hearing this Richard thought his horse was
untied, and stepped to his head to adjust the bridle.
Jesse spoke low to me and said:
"Miss Betsey, promise me not to marry until I see
you again." I cheerfully answered, "I have no idea
of such a thing and I'll promise."
He grasped my hand and looked into my eyes and
said "Goodbye." I read a message then in his
eyes, that the love that I had thought dead was
kindled into a fierce flame. Surely he read the same
in my telltale blushes. He left me in body, but in
spirit he was near me, waking or sleeping, my boy
lover was near me and loved me, not Jennie Stewart.
How could I ever have thought he did not love me?
Just a word of idle chatter of his niece, who was trying
to find out if I loved him and if he loved me. I
read it all then, and knew that Ida meant to be a
real friend to us both. I was glad to bid Richard
goodbye at our gate and run to my room, where I
permitted myself to think how much I was beloved
and how little I deserved it after months of doubt
and jealousy.
Suddenly I remembered in my happiness my mother's
unhappiness, if she only knew all this, and then
came a feeling of my disobedience to her and regret
that it was so, but I would not alter anything, even
though my mother would be unhappy. I must love
my stranger lover, though the whole world opposed
it, for he was no stranger to me, but a part of me,
a something so near and dear to me that life itself
would not be worth living without him. I pondered
deeply on the one thing I had wanted so much to do,
to continue my studies till I could graduate, now I
thought why I'd make my mother just as miserable
by leaving her to go off to school, as if I were leaving
her to marry the one man in all the world for me.
I could not concentrate my mind on books, and
problems in geometry were not necessary to make
my boy lover happy as he often told me.
A few weeks after Jesse had come and gone again
so suddenly, I was down at Nealie's home, for her two
little children helped me to put out of my constant
thought the being whom I so loved. Nell and Charlie
made me forget myself in them whether I wanted to
or not. Nealie always so willing to help me, now
seemed to need my constant companionship, my mother
having told her what she thought of my feelings towards
Jesse. One day at her home a little colored
boy whom my sister had sent up town on
an errand came running at the top of his speed
and breathlessly called to me, "Oh, Miss Bettie,
your true lover have came!" Thinking he meant
some of my friends from about town, I did not reply,
but running up to me, his big eyes bulging, "Shore
now 'fore de Lawd, Miss Bettie, your true lover have
came," he insisted. Finally I said in the most indifferent
manner, "What is the name of 'my true lover,'
and where did he 'came' from?"
"Miss Harrell's brudder that has got de circus
wagon." Hearing that much I ran home without
waiting to hear anything else. My heart was beating
so hard, it seemed to almost burst its bounds. I went
to my room, added a few touches to my toilet, but
determined to look as much like Jesse had surprised me
as possible, if he should drop in to see me.
It
was a bright sunny day in March, and our front
door stood open. My mother called me and said, "I
have a piece of machine work I want you to do for
me, Laura."
"Very well," I answered, and going into the room
where she was preparing the work, I sat down to
sew the garment. She was busy at the table basting,
and I was running the old "Howe," such a noisy machine
that it drowned out every other noise. Finally
feeling a presence near me, I looked up, and there
stood my boy-lover in the doorway smiling at me.
That I was greatly embarrassed does not really express
my feeling, and I have no idea how I managed
to greet him or what I did.
"Well, Mrs. Lee, you must excuse me for my seeming
rudeness, I did knock on the front door, so loud
I thought I'd wake the 'seven sleepers,' but I heard
the noise of the sewing machine and knew you could
not hear my knocking, and so took the liberty to walk
in the open door."
He sat down beside me, and we chatted between
the pieces of sewing my mother continued to hand
over to me. We were sitting talking in one of those
intervals, when Jesse took from his pocket a pencil and
envelope, for my mother kept her back to us, while
basting at the table, and writing a few words handed
it back to me. I felt what was coming and read
these words, "Will you be my wife? I must know now,
answer 'yes' and make me the happiest man alive."
I took the pencil and nervously wrote, fearing my
mother would turn around and see me thus engaged,
"I would say 'yes' if I thought you wanted to hear it."
Then stealing my hand, he pressed it to his lips.
Before I could arrest him from what I saw was coming
he said:
"Mrs. Lee, I have just asked your daughter to be
my wife, and she has made me the happiest of men
by saying 'Yes.' "
I saw my mother clutch the table for support, and
turning said to me, "Laura, you surely do not mean
it?"
I faltered, "Yes, mother, I do mean it."
"Why you are too young, and not through school,
I cannot think of letting you marry now, and Mr.
Mercer is a stranger, too. You have not thought
what your promise means," she said.
"Mrs. Lee, I know that you are right in wishing to
see your daughter well settled in life, and my vocation
now is not to my own thinking as respected as I
intend for my future business to be. My trips lately
have been to confer with some men in St. Lous, where
we have decided to open up a manufacturing chemists
laboratory and where we shall manufacture medicines
for the medical profession to use. There is a fortune
in it, I am convinced, I have some money I have
saved from the business I am now engaged in, and I
have arranged to form a company and begin life in a
live western city, where we will be centrally located for
supplying the United States."
"Then you will make St. Louis your home," murmured
my mother.
"Yes, that is my intention, our family have never
recuperated since losing the negroes, and I am not
willing to drag along for years eking out a bare existence,
when I can make a fortune by going West."
Turning to me, my mother said sadly, "Child, do
you realize what this means, leaving your family and
friends and going among a wild people, living, almost,
I hear, on the frontier, with Indians almost at their
door? Mr. Mercer, she is my baby, and has always
been the pet of the whole family, it is true she has
never disobeyed me in any matter that she was requested
to do, and I have tried to keep from imposing
anything unreasonable on her. Now you have put
me to the test to give her, my baby, into your keeping,
without knowing much of your character, disposition,
etc. Not only do you ask for her to be given to you,
but you tell me that you will take her to a far away
home, where possibly we may seldom, if ever, see
each other again."
I loved my mother more dearly for every word she
said. I knew her inmost feelings were love for me.
I was trembling with suppressed emotion, my love
for my mother in the scale with the love for my boy-lover,
my hero, my life. I could not leave the room,
much as I wanted to, for I felt that all my happiness
was at stake, and I must hear every word for and
against the match.
Jesse's eyes filled with tears, as he said, "I love your
daughter, and have loved her from the first moment of
meeting her, better than everything this world contains.
Since meeting her I have tried to delude myself into the
belief that it was a boyish infatuation for a pretty girl, but
no, my heart goes out to her with every fibre of my being,
and I can't give her up. She loves me, and has always
loved me, she has tried to drown it with thoughts of
others, but she can't any more do that than I can turn the
current of my love for her into another channel. We were
made for each other, and I am determined to win her, if it
takes years to prove my loyalty to her."
Mother had sat down at the beginning of the
conversation, and now and then she would so fill up with
tears that she could not talk. I sat like a little criminal
awaiting the verdict. Finally my mother said:
"Mr. Mercer, will you give me till tomorrow to think
and talk over what is right and proper to do? I live for
my children, she is my baby, the only unmarried one, and
feels nearer than the other children who are away. I
want to do what will make her permanently happy. If you
think she is so much in love with you I want to find it out,
for, so far, I had thought she was fascinated for the
moment, and after your visit to South Carolina had gotten
over it entirely.
"There is another thing, Laura has no musical talent,
can't even carry a tune that any one knows. Now,
much of your happy home life will be in having a
congenial wife, one who enters into all your tastes,
nothing makes home life unhappier than uncongeniality.
Think well, Mr. Mercer, what you are doing, every young
man who falls in love thinks he wants a wife until he gets
one, and then he finds out he needs everything else but a
wife."
Jesse arose to leave and said, "Mrs. Lee, the girls
want me to bring Miss Betsey down to the house tonight,
we are going to have some music, may I come up and
take her to sister Ann's?"
"Certainly," my mother said, "I would not for one
moment debar her from an evening's enjoyment."
After he left mother asked me many questions, why I
had not told her that I loved Jesse.
"I felt, mother, that you would never approve it, and I
could no more help loving him than I could help
breathing," I said.
"Well, I will go down to see your sister Cornelia and
Ashley tonight and talk over the matter with them,"
mother said.
I went to her and stroking her pretty wavy hair, now
so streaked with grey, said, "Mother, I love you even
more than I ever did, and don't want to disobey you, so
please don't make it too hard for me."
She kissed me and said, "I am only thinking of your
future happiness."
That night I dressed in my most becoming dress, a
white dotted swiss with pink ribbon bows and sash, and
when Jesse came for me, he said, "Miss Betsey, you
look sweet enough to eat."
We went to the party at sister Ann's, and such a
good time we all had, that when time came to go
home I had forgotten that my happiness had been
weighed in the balance all the evening and might be
found wanting tomorrow. Jesse could play the banjo
a little better than anybody I had ever heard before,
the old fashioned negro melodies and rag time, long
before rag time came into fashion.
- WILL CARLETON.
The
Clayton string band was ushered in soon after
we arrived at Mrs. Harrell's home. The young men
who composed it, were from the finest old families in
the county. The McCullers brothers, five in number,
were among the aristocrats of Clayton, and considered
with the Poole boys to be the best musicians
in the state for amateurs.
Delino McCullers and William were first violinists,
and their touch was so sweet that they could always
awaken the most responsive chords in the hearts of
their hearers.
Edgar and Donas played second violin and the violin
cello in such a masterful way that the low notes re-echoed
even more melody than the first violinists could
evoke.
Herbert McCullers, one of the handsomest of the
brothers, as well as one of the best musicians, usually
played the guitar, even as a Spanish Cavalier might
do in sunny Spain.
Then came Coy Poole and his brothers, Quentin and
Nathan, who seemed to be able to play on any instrument,
and in the most pleasing style. It was like a
pleasant dream to be awakened in the middle of the
night and listen to a serenade from these young
geniuses who played as professionals might have
envied.
Still, on this particular evening their talents did not
shine out as formerly, for Jesse, himself a lover of
music from the most classical to rag time, could play
with such a dash and with his whole soul, that even
the banjo played by him seemed like a wonderful
instrument in his hands, while the piano seemed attuned
to higher bursts of melody than ever before
under his touch. Nature had been no niggard with
him when she committed all these talents to his keeping,
for his beautiful tenor voice would have been
a generous and gracious gift to any person, yet he
was capable of getting and giving more pleasure with
all these gifts than any other artist I ever knew.
We made merry till late. Among the other accomplishments
that he developed that evening was the
telling of stories that were so original, that I
have never forgotten them; indeed no good wife
should ever forget her husband's stories. One of
these will do more to show the reader the kind of
material this young man was made of than any words
I might say about him, perhaps in the dark days
that came to us, there arose in my mind the picture
of the young lightning rod expert as he planned and
sold Mr. Stewart the much abused lightning rods. I
foresaw his determination to win me as he won the
bet. I shall tell these stories in the very words he
told them.
Along in 1871 and 1872 a clock company was working
through this section of the state. The salesmen
of the company were reaping a harvest, selling a clock
with a pretty case. The clock was also what is called
a calendar clock; that is, it would tell the day of the
month. These clocks were sold at thirty-nine dollars
apiece. The company selling these clocks was very
accommodating, and the salesmen were instructed that
whenever they found a man who owned his home
and wanted a clock, they, the salesmen, were to sell
it for cash if he could get the cash, but if the cash
was short, the clock must be sold on credit, and a
note must be taken, giving from one month to one
year's time to pay for same.
The salesmen were all young men, full of fun and
frolic, but very good workers. There was a great
rivalry between the salesmen as to which one could
sell the greatest number of clocks. When nearly
everybody in the neighborhood had secured a clock
and the company was getting ready to move over into
another county, all the salesmen met at this little town
of Lumberton to turn over to the superintendent all
the cash that they could spare, reserving only enough
to pay current expenses. Also to turn over the notes
taken for the clocks that they had sold on credit.
This was the business part of the meeting, but the
meeting meant a great deal more to these young fellows,
for each and every one was delighted to get to
a town. The size of the town mattered little to them,
only the bigger the town the better they liked it.
At these meetings every one had some experience
to relate in connection with their trips through the
county. Each one would brag on the number of
clocks that he had sold, and relate some little particular
incident about how he would overcome the difficulties,
as well as the scruples of his customers, and
told how he sold the clock to his man, whether the
man wanted a clock or not. In fact each one would
feel as if he had sustained a personal injury if he
failed to sell a clock to every man that he went to
see. So it got to be a sort of a disgrace for a man
to come and report that he had been baffled in a
single instance and had failed to sell his clock to his
man.
At this meeting the stories had come thick and fast,
nearly all telling of success, and not a single instance
had as yet been related where failure must be recorded,
till Billy Colver, spoke up and said:
"Well, boys, I am not going to be as big a liar as
some of you, I am going to tell the truth. There
is a man living out on the Shoeheel road that I spent
a half day with, I thought three or four times that
I had sold him a clock, but when I got ready to close
the deal my man would back out, so I have to report
this one failure, and I want to add that my man told
me I was the fourth man who had been to see him
during the week, so there are three more of you fellows
who could report at least this one failure if you
only had the backbone to do it."
Another salesman said, "I confess I am one of the
other three who failed in this case."
So the other two not to be outdone in candor, also
confessed their inability to sell this particular man.
The first speaker, Mr. Colver, said, "boys, this will
never do, we must not let such a story as this go back
to headquarters. This Mr. McClean must buy a
clock, but the question is, how can it be done?"
After much talk it was agreed that Tim Rowland,
the youngest and handsomest of all the salesmen,
should go and sell a clock to Mr. McClean. Tim had
a great reputation as a salesman, and he had sold
clocks to almost every man that he had visited. Tim
did not like the idea of going to see Mr. McClean after
four other salesmen had failed, for he said that a
stubborn man, after once refusing to buy, would be
much more obstinate than before he was approached.
He wanted to know if Mr. McClean was married.
One of the boys spoke up and said that Mr. McClean
had a very sweet, mild-mannered little wife, but she
was so modest and retiring that he did not remember
to have heard her say one word while he was at Mr.
McClean's house.
Tim said if he could only go to the house and find
Mr. McClean absent he was almost sure that he could
sell Mrs. McClean a clock. The next morning, early, one
of the salesmen went to Tim's room and said, "Now is
your time to sell the clock to Mrs. McClean, Tim, for I
just saw Mr. McClean over on the Court House square."
So Tim hurried through his breakfast and started off on
his wagon, which was loaded with clocks, for Mr.
McClean's house to try to sell a clock to his wife. He
drove out of his way to approach Mr. McClean's house
from the opposite direction, so that when he arrived at
the house his horse would be headed towards
Lumberton.
In an hour or two he found himself in the road in front
of Mr. McClean's house. He walked boldly in and
knocked on the front door. He stood a little while, and
receiving no response, he knocked again, a little louder
than before, still receiving no response he knocked again,
louder still.
This time he heard some movement inside the house,
and waited patiently for an answer to his knock. At last a
young woman made her appearance. She had her
sleeves rolled up above her elbows and she was rolling
them down to hide her naked arms. She had on a
sunbonnet, which completely hid her face, except in front,
and a skirt to the bonnet covered her neck and part of
her shoulders. As soon as he could, Tim spoke in his
sweetest tones.
He pulled off his hat and kept it in his hand while he
talked. He said, "Good morning, Madam, is Mr. McClean
at home? I am very sorry for I am in trouble and I was
going to ask a favor of Mr. McClean.
You see my wagon is broken down and I must leave my
load of boxes somewhere, so I can go to town with my
empty wagon to get it mended. Do you think Mr.
McClean would object if I would put my boxes under the
porch or in the barn, any where, so they could keep dry?
O! thank you, you are so kind. What a beautiful place
you have! I think the outlook from this porch is one of the
most beautiful that I ever saw. That landscape is pretty
enough to make an artist want to live and die right in sight
of so much beauty. O! if I only had such a home and a
pretty little girl I saw about ten miles from here, for my
wife, I would be the happiest mortal on the earth. What is
her name, did you ask? Oh, such a sweet name; I expect
you know her so I must not tell you her name. I have only
seen her once, but I fell in love at first sight. O, I tell you
she is the most beautiful being I ever saw, such lovely
eyes, and the sweetest mouth. Why if I had a wife with a
mouth like that, I would spend about half of my time
kissing her. Her hair, Oh, you just ought to see that hair,
that hair was as fine as silk. She tried to tie it up on the
back of her head, but the hair would not stand for such
treatment, so it just broke out and was hanging all around
her beautiful neck. Color, why I can't exactly tell,
sometimes I thought it was black, when she would sit in
the shadow, but as soon as she would come out where
the light would fall on it, it would look like it was on fire,
there was so much red in it. When I got real close to her
it did not look red, it was brown. So I guess I must call it a
reddish
brown. You say you know her, now look here, is she
some of your kin folks? She looks enough like you
to be your sister. Pardon me, pardon me, for keeping
you so long. You really reminded me so much
of Miss Mary! There, I have 'let the cat out of the
bag'! Well what difference does it make, I know
you will not tell on me. You will be my friend,
won't you? I am going to work hard and I will marry
Mary some day, if she will have me."
Then Tim went out to his wagon and commenced
bringing his boxes in and putting them on the porch.
When he had nearly all of the boxes in, he looked at
Mrs. McClean. She was standing there smiling and
watching every movement. Tim looked up with a
smile on his face and asked, "Will you please tell me
what time it is? What! Have no clock? Why, that
is the worst I ever heard of, to live away out in the
country and have no clock. Why, just to think that
every one of those boxes has a clock in it. I will just
put one on your mantel to keep you company while
I am gone to town. What do you say, your husband
will be angry? He don't want a clock? Four clock
men been here? Then he would not buy, that is funny.
He said that if a clock man came here while he was
gone you must slam the door in his face? Why,
what sort of a man is he? Has he a watch? Yes,
well you see he don't need a clock himself, he has a
watch. He is away in the field plowing, he looks at
his watch, it is dinner time. He comes on home to
dinner, you have no watch, no clock, you don't know
the time, and dinner is not quite ready. He is impatient;
you say, 'I would have had your dinner ready,
I have no clock, I did not know it was dinner time.'
What, you say this has happened many times? Now
that is too bad. Look here, I tell you what I will do,
I want to sell you this clock." Tim had put the clock
on the mantel and started it to work. It only lacked
a few minutes to twelve o'clock. As Tim was talking
the clock struck twelve. Tim said, "Now, that
is what I call real music, ain't that the sweetest gong
you ever heard? Look at that clock, it is a thing of
beauty and a joy forever. I don't know anything anybody
can put in a home that will give it so much pleasure
as a clock! There it stands to speak to you every
time you look at it, and it tells you something that
you want to know every time it speaks, and the beauty
is that it never talks back to you. It never gets impatient.
It is always in a good humor, and it helps
the other members of the family to keep in a good
humor, too. All during the night, in sickness or in
health, there it stands with open face and a kind
look, to remind you of all your duties. It tells
you when to go to bed, it tells you when to get
up, it tells when it is time to get breakfast, dinner
and supper; it tells you when to take the next dose
of medicine, it tells you when to go to church.
In the weary hours of the long winter nights you
wake up and lay there hour after hour and wonder
what time it is. There the clock stands to mark
off for you the hours as they pass. Now I will tell
you what I will do, I am going to make you a proposition
that any sensible person would accept, and I know
that you are a sensible person. Now I will sell you that
clock at your own price and will take anything you have
to sell at your own price, could any proposition be made
more attractive than that; now what do you say?"
There was absolute silence for about five minutes.
Mrs. McClean was smiling, with a puzzled look on her
face, as if she was trying to comprehend what had been
said to her.
At last she said simply, "I will accept your proposition.
Come down here to this pen and I will show you
something." She took Tim out in the corner of the yard
where there was a small pen. On the floor of the pen,
was a very poor sick looking calf. Mrs. McClean said, "I
will let you have that calf for five dollars." She then took
Tim out to the barn, and said "There is a barrel with some
flax seed in it, I will let you have the barrel and the seed
for three dollars. Now come to the house and we will
finish our trading." When she got to the house she
motioned Tim to be seated, and went off in another room,
and soon returned with two silver dollars in her hand. She
handed them to Tim and said, "You said I could have the
clock at my own price. Well, I'll give you ten dollars for
the clock. You said you would take anything I had to sell
at my own price in pay for the clock. So I give you the
calf at five dollars, the flax seed at three dollars, this
makes eight dollars and the two dollars I give you makes
the ten dollars, and I hope it will satisfy you for I have
nothing else to sell."
Tim assured her that he was perfectly satisfied, and
said further, that he wished to beg her pardon for having
used a subterfuge to get an audience. He said he had
come from town especially to sell her the clock, and now
that she had bought one if she would only forgive him for
telling her a story about his wagon being broken down he
would get his calf, his seed and the balance of his clocks,
and with heartfelt thanks for her kindness he would bid
her good day. Saying also that if he got along well with
the beautiful Mary, that he had mentioned, that he hoped
to see her again some day.
Putting all his things together, he was soon on his
wagon and on his way back to town. Tim was wondering
what his friends would say about his selling a $39.00
clock for $10.00. Then he remembered that Mrs.
McClean said the calf's mother was a fine milk cow, so
he said, I may get a good price for the calf. Then his mind
took in the flax seed. Well, "by George," I will sell them
too. So when he got to town he had all his plans made.
He went to the Court House and asked the sheriff if he
could sell some flax seed and a fine Jersey calf. The
sheriff readily gave his permission. So Tim loafed around
till Court adjourned for the day, and as he saw the people
come out of the Court House, he mounted his wagon and
commenced hollowing at the top of his voice, "Oh, yes,
O! ye-s, O, yes, come this way! come this way! Now
gentlemen, I want to offer you something that they tell me
will bring you the most prolific crop and make you more
money than anything that you can cultivate, will make you
more money than anything
you can plant in this country. I am telling you that
this thing that I am going to offer you will grow as
fast and do as well in this country as it will in any
country. If this is true what a wonderful country
this will be in a few years! Why, you will be so
rich you will not have to work any more, you will
have nothing to do but live on the interest of your
money. Now, gentlemen, you have heard of the Norway
flax, the most wonderful flax in the world. This
flax is as fine as silk and grows as high as your
head. I am told that it will yield one hundred per cent.
every year, just think of it, one hundred per cent. per
year! Now I have only a very limited quantity of
this flax seed; it is so scarce I will have to charge you
one dollar for a large spoonful. Now who will take
a spoonful at one dollar? You? Thank you; and
you? thank you;" and so Tim went on till he had
sold fifty-five spoonfuls. When he saw his crowd
leaving Tim said, "now, gentlemen, I had flax seed for
many of you, but I have sold it all. Now I have one
more thing to sell. This one thing only one man
can get, and the man who gets this one thing, that I
now offer you, in a year or so will be the proudest
man in this country. Now I offer you this imported
Jersey calf. This is the finest stock ever brought to
the United States from the Island of Jersey. This is
a cow calf and came from the biggest and best milking
family of cows ever owned on earth. Why, gentlemen,
I am told that the mother of this calf gave five
gallons of milk a day. That the father of this calf
gave five gallons of milk a day, that the grandmother
of this calf gave five gallons of milk a day, and the
grandfather gave five gallons of milk a day. Now,
how much am I offered? $10.00, $15.00, $20.00,
$30.00, $35.00, $40.00, $45.00, $50.00, $50.00, $50.00,
going at $50.00, can't you give me $5.00 more?
$50.00, $50.00, $50.00, make it five, $55.00. Now,
gentlemen, don't lose this bargain. I am going to sell,
going, going, once going, $55.00, $55.00, $55.00,
$55.00, going twice, going, going, last call, are you
all done, $55.00, third and last call, and sold to that
gentleman over there at $55.00. Now, gentlemen,
accept my thanks for your kindness." After getting
his money Tim drove off.
The scene shifts and goes back to the McClean farm.
Mrs. McClean was greatly pleased that she had succeeded
in buying a clock, and was more than pleased
that she could pay for it with the calf that Mr. McClean
was so anxious to get rid of, in fact had said that if
the calf lived another day that he intended to kill it.
He also spoke of the flax seed, saying that they were
worm eaten and were worthless, and he intended to
throw them away. So she had only paid out two dollars
in real money, and she just considered that she
got the beautiful clock for two dollars. But there was
a sting in the whole transaction, and this made her a
little sad. The thing that worried her was the fact
that if a clock man came to his house while he was
away, she was to slam the door in his face and go on
about her business.
What could she say when her husband came home?
So she must have thought of something to say or to
do, for she went hurriedly out to the barn and got some
corn in a bucket, came back in the yard and commenced
to call the chickens. She shelled the corn and threw it to
the chickens. She dropped the corn nearer and nearer to
herself till she was dropping the corn right at her feet.
The chickens crowded around her closer and closer. She
looked them over well, and reached down and picked up
a nice half grown young rooster, there was one squawk
and a little whirl of the arm and the chicken was
fluttering on the ground with its head off. In a little while
she was on her way to the house with the chicken. She
cleaned it, cut it up and put it aside, after sprinkling it
over with salt. She got out her flour and made some
biscuits, she got out some potatoes and cleaned them, she
got out some rice, washed it, shook up her fire in the
cooking stove and started cooking supper. She would
stop her work once in a while and go in and look at her
clock. John would be coming along soon. So she sat and
watched down the road. She got her table set and put a
clean table cloth on. She made the table look as nice as if
she was looking for company. She got out some
preserved peaches and made some pie crust out of her
biscuit dough, putting in a little butter to make it short and
crisp.
Everything was now ready. It commenced to turn
dark. She lighted her lamps, sat down and waited; at
last she heard the rattle of chains and the snap of the
wagon wheels, the patter of horses' feet. She knew John
was coming, maybe it was some other farmer on his
way home from the town. What could
keep John so late? Yes, it was John, he had turned in and
gone down towards the barn. She thought that it took him
a long time to get through with his horses. She went in
and took another look at the clock, then went over the
bureau and looked at herself in the glass. She thought she
looked a little paler than usual. She smoothed her hair and
went back to the kitchen. Yes, there was John coming at
last. What would he say? John came on in, walked over
to a shelf where there was a bucket of water, a wash
basin and a fresh towel hanging on the rack. He washed
his hands.
His wife was watching him; as soon as she saw him
giving his hands the finishing touches with the towel, she
said in her sweetest tones, "Come right in John, I know
you must be tired, and I have a nice warm supper for
you. Here is some nice fried chicken that I know you love,
and some nice hot biscuit that ought to be mighty good,
because I put some good work on them."
John threw up his head and took a good look at his
wife. He was wondering what made his wife so nice and
pleasant tonight. She rambled on asking him about the
town, asking about the news, handing him more chicken,
more biscuits, more coffee. She kept him busy. All of a
sudden there was the clock striking in the other room.
John asked "What is that?" The wife said "go on, John,
and finish your supper and I will tell you all about it." John
with his brows knit with a fierce look in his face, said "all
about what?"
"Go on John and finish your supper and I will tell you
all about it. Go on John, now please finish your supper
and don't get mad about it. It is nothing to get mad about.
Now please go on and finish your supper."
John said, "what did I tell you? Didn't I tell you if any
clock man came here while I was gone that you must
slam the door in his face and go on about your business?"
"Now, John." "Didn't I tell you that? Now you have gone
and disobeyed me, is that the way for a wife to treat her
husband?"
"Now, please, John," said the wife in pleading tones.
But John could see only one side and kept on. At last
there came a gray look around the wife's mouth, the face
turned a little paler, she was trying to swallow something.
She got up out of her chair and said, "yes, you miserable
wretch, you don't deserve even the little consideration that
I have for you. You talk to me about disobedience! Why,
you stingy cuss, I have been your obedient slave. Here I
have cooked all your meals for two years, I have mended
all your old ragged clothes for two years, fed your
chickens, milked your cows, fed your hogs, you miserable
man you! I get up early and go to bed late to get through
the work that you should hire somebody to help do. Talk
to me about obedience! You don't know how to treat a
decent woman. You are too stingy. You go off to the field
with your watch in your pocket, when you feel a little
hungry you look at your watch and say, 'Yes, it is dinner
time, I will go home to
dinner!' Here I am with no watch, no clock, don't know
what time it is, and must guess the time to get my dinner;
you come home, dinner is a few minutes late, you want to
know what is the matter with the dinner. There is nothing
the matter with the dinner, the matter is with you, you
miserable stingy thing you. That's what is the matter I can
tell you, and I can tell you something else; I can tell you
that you can get somebody else to cook for you, for I will
not live with a man so mean and stingy. You remember
you said you intended to kill that sick calf. Well, I sold that
calf for five dollars. Do you remember that barrel of
worm eaten flax seed, that you were going to throw away?
I sold it for three dollars and I took the last money I had
on earth and gave it with the calf and the flax seed for the
clock. You knew that I wanted a clock, and you were too
stingy to buy one for me, and I am now done with you.
Tomorrow I will go home to my mother."
About this time John was laughing so he could hardly
stand up. The wife said "What are you laughing at? I
don't see anything to laugh at." John put his hand in his
pocket and brought out a package wrapped in a piece of
newspaper. He said, "My dear wife, you are the smartest
wife in the world! I am the darn fool. Here is a package
of the same flax seed and I paid one dollar for it. I have
the calf down yonder in my wagon, and I paid fifty-five
dollars for the measly thing."
One day a smart looking stranger got off the train
and went over to Mr. Peel's hotel. At once Mr. Peel
got interested and would hardly leave the stranger
long enough to attend to any business. The stranger
started on a stroll, so Mr. Peel started along behind.
When the stranger would meet some one and stop to
ask some questions, Mr. Peel would draw near, and
stand by with his ears wide open listening, trying to
catch something that would give him the information
that he was almost dying to know.
The first man the stranger met was a countryman
with a little bull cart, with one barrel on it. The
stranger stopped and asked the countryman, "What
have you got in your barrel?" "Turpentine."
"What are you going to do with it?"
"Going to sell it to the 'stillery."
"What's he going to do with it?"
"Going to bile it I s'pose."
"What does he bile it for?"
"To get the sperits out'n it."
"What's he going to do with the sperits?"
"Damfino."
"What's left when he gets the sperits out?"
"Rosum."
"What do they do with rosum?"
"Sell it to the Yankees, I guess."
Mr. Peel was standing near, listening to all this
talk, but could get nothing out of it at all to satisfy
him.
The stranger went on to the blacksmith shop and
stopped and asked the blacksmith (who was shoeing
a horse):
"How many nails do you put in each shoe?"
"Sometimes six, sometimes eight," said the blacksmith.
"Do horses go to bed with their shoes on?"
"I guess so."
"Do horses have corns on their feet like folks?"
"Yes, they do."
Mr. Peel was standing near with a troubled look
on his face, for he could make out nothing from all
this talk.
The stranger went on further, and met a nice looking
man with a white neck tie and a double breasted Prince
Albert coat. The stranger stopped and asked:
"Are you the preacher of this town?"
"Yes sir."
"Do you believe in eternal punishment?"
"The Scripture clearly teaches it."
"Do you believe in infant damnation?"
"Well, I don't know about that."
"Do you believe in the atonement?"
"Well, the Scripture clearly teaches that."
Mr. Peel was standing near, taking all this
conversation in, but could make nothing of it.
The stranger went on back to the hotel. He sat down
and Mr. Peel came in and sat down near him, looking at
the stranger in such a longing way. Both sat quite still for
some time. At last Mr. Peel could not stand it longer, so
he leaned over toward the stranger and said in his most
winning tones:
"I can't make it out at all. I can't make it out at all."
"Can't make what out?" said the stranger.
"I can't make out what you do for a living."
"Now, you think pretty well of me don't you, Mr.
Peel?" said the stranger.
"Yes," drawled Mr. Peel.
"Well, I have not done anything to make you think less
of me, have I, Mr. Peel?"
"No," said Mr. Peel.
"Well, I prefer to keep to myself what I do."
This did not squelch Mr. Peel, who still gazed at
the stranger with such a yearning interest. At last Mr.
Peel said:
"Are you an insurance man?"
"No."
"Are you a lightning rod man?"
"No."
"Are you a book seller?"
"No."
"Are you a revenue officer?"
"No."
This was very discouraging, but it did not stop Mr.
Peel. After a long wait in silence, Mr. Peel said:
"Well, I'll be gol darned if I can make it out at all, Mr.
Man, what in the world do you do for a living?"
"Now, look here, Mr. Peel, I don't mind telling you
what I do, as you are so anxious to know, but you must
swear to me that you will never tell a soul on earth what
I tell you; swear?"
"W-e-ll, I won't tell anyone," said Mr. Peel.
"Well, I am a gambler," said the stranger.
"A what?" said Mr. Peel.
"A gambler," replied the stranger.
"Well, I'll be gol darned, what do you gamble on?"
"Anything, everything. Here is a pack of cards. I will bet
five dollars that I can turn Jack every time (flipping up a
Jack), will you take that bet?"
"No, I can't bet, I belong to the church."
"Well, here are some dice. I will bet you ten dollars
that I can turn sixes every time (throwing the dice on the
table). Will you take this bet?"
"No, I can't bet, I belong to the church."
"Well, there are two lumps of sugar, that one is
yours and this one is mine. I'll bet you twenty-five
dollars that a fly will light on mine first, will you
take that bet"
"No, I can't bet, I belong to the church."
After this the stranger quieted down for some time
and looked away off into space. At last he spied the
clock. He then said to Mr. Peel:
"Mr. Peel, did it ever strike you what a difficult
thing it is to put your mind on one thing and keep
it there for one hour?"
"Well, I don't know as I ever did."
"Now, there is that clock, with its pendulum going
backward and forward (pointing his finger and following
the pendulum of the clock), here she goes,
there she goes, here she goes, there she goes. Do you
think you can follow that pendulum with you finger
for one hour, Mr. Peel?"
"Well, that is dead easy," said Mr. Peel.
"Well, I will bet you fifty dollars that you can't."
"Well, I'll be gol darned if I don't try you once,"
said Mr. Peel (pulling out his money and throwing
fifty dollars on the table). The stranger put a similar
amount on the table and said:
"Now, Mr. Peel, let us understand each other. If
you keep your mind on the pendulum of that clock
and follow it with your finger for one hour, the
money is yours, if you let your mind wander one
moment and forget to follow that pendulum with your
fingers you will lose your money. Do you understand that?"
"Yep."
"All right, it is just half past nine now, you can
commence." Mr. Peel pointed his finger at the pendulum
and followed the motion, saying:
"Here she goes and there she goes, here she goes
and there she goes, here she goes and there she goes."
The stranger said, "I believe I will just take that
$100.00 and take a walk."
Mr. Peel got a little anxious, but stuck to his job.
"Here she goes and there she goes, here she goes and
there she goes."
About this time in came Mrs. Peel. She looked at
Mr. Peel for a minute trying to make out what was
going on. Mr. Peel got a little madder for he thought
his wife was in collusion with the stranger to win his
money, but he stuck to his job.
"Here she goes and there she goes, here she goes and
there she goes."
Mrs. Peel said, "what on earth are you doing, Ira?
What in the world are you doing? Stop that, stop
that, I do believe the man has gone crazy."
She rushed out. Mr. Peel stuck to his job. Here
she goes and there she goes. In a few minutes
in came Mrs. Peel with the family doctor. The doctor
walked up to Mr. Peel, taking his other hand.
All this made Mr. Peel get madder than ever, but he
stuck to his job. Here she goes, there she goes, here
she goes, there she goes.
Mr. Peel's eyes looked glassy, saliva was running
down his mustache, he looked like a wild man, but
he stuck to his job.
The doctor said, "Mr. Peel, calm yourself, calm
yourself."
Mr. Peel paid no attention, stuck to his job. Here she
goes, there she goes. Here she goes, there she goes.
Here she goes, there she goes.
The doctor turned to Mrs. Peel and said, "I do believe
he has gone crazy. Get me some scissors, get me soap,
get me a razor. I will shave the hair from the back of the
neck and put a mustard plaster on the back of his neck
and will try to save his life."
Mrs. Peel got all the things the doctor needed.
The doctor went on putting the mustard plaster on Mr.
Peel's neck, but this did not stop Mr. Peel; he stuck to his
job.
"Here she goes, there she goes. Here she goes, there
she goes. Here she goes, there she goes.
At last as half past ten o'clock arrived Mr. Peel said,
"There, by gum, I have won! I have won the money!"
"What money?"
"Why, I bet that stranger fifty dollars that I would
follow the pendulum of that clock for one hour, and I
have done it."
"Why, that stranger left on the ten o'clock train," said
Mrs. Peel.
P. G. Stewart who lived about eight miles southeast of a
little town called Pendleton. Lipscombe said that old man
Stewart was the toughest proposition he had ever struck.
He said Mr. Stewart was a well to do farmer, that he
owned a mill and was also running a country store. Mr.
Stewart had plenty of money to pay for the rods, but did
not seem to want them. Lipscombe said he had appealed
to Mr. Stewart in the most eloquent fashion, to influence
him to buy the rods, but to no avail. Mr. Stewart did not
seem to want the rods. Lipscombe had explained the best
way he could, all about how the metal rod was a
conductor of electricity, and if the lightning should strike
the house the rod would be a protector. Nothing
Lipscombe could say seemed to make an impression on
Mr. Stewart, so Mr. Lipscombe drove away without
selling any lightning rods to Mr. Stewart. He said he did
not believe there was a man living who could sell a
lightning rod to old man Stewart.
Lipscombe had hardly stopped talking before another
salesman named Grubbs spoke up and said:
"Why, that old man you are talking about is the same
old cuss I spent a whole day with, trying to sell him a rod.
I knew right away I could not do anything with the old
man, because he had a mouth like a slit in a board, and a
chin like the end of a brick, so strong and square, then the
upper back of the head run to seed, so I knew that he
was as stubborn as a mule. I didn't fool away much time
with the old man, I went for the old lady. I told her every
story of damage done by lightning that had been published
in the papers all summer. I knew by heart all these
stories, and rattled them off with all the harrowing details,
till I had eighteen already dead and about twenty more
ready to kill, if the lightning would only hold out. I had the
eyes of the old lady bulging out, and looking as big as
saucers. I knew I had her all ready to say yes, that she
wanted some lightning rods, when old man Stewart came
in. As soon as he looked at his wife and saw the look of
terror on her face, talk about demons, well, you just ought
to have seen old man Stewart! He did not say much, but
what he said was right to the point. He said, 'What you
skeering my old woman for? This here house has been
standing here for twenty-three years, and the Lord has
not struck it yet, when He does get ready to strike it, your
little rods will do no good.' This is all he said, but he
pointed toward the front gate with his forefinger, and I
looked at that square jaw of his, and his mouth was shut
like a steel trap, and I understood exactly what he meant,
so I said, 'Goodbye to you all.'"
Another salesman named Bagwell, spoke up and said:
"Well, don't this beat anything you ever heard? And
just to think I was at old man Stewart's last Sunday, spent
the day with him and went to church with his family! Did
you see the pretty daughter? Why, I am dead gone on
her. I never spent a more pleasant day in my life. They
just fed me on the best the farm afforded, and the old
lady, ain't she lovely? Why do you know she noticed a
button was
lost off my coat. She looked up a button to match and
sewed the button on my coat for me. The old man talked
about everything he could think of, except lightning rods,
but I thought that was because it was Sunday and he was
too religious. So I kept my mouth shut on lightning rods,
but I fully expected to sell him on Monday morning, but
when Monday morning came, the old man was up and
gone before I got out of bed. So when I came down to
breakfast and learned that he was gone, and also learned
that two other lightning rod men had been there during the
month, I felt like two cents."
Grubbs said he would just like to see the salesman that
could sell old man Stewart a lightning rod.
Then the manager of the company spoke up and said
there was a salesman in the company that could sell rods
to old man Stewart. Lipscombe said that he had just fifty
dollars in his pocket to bet that no salesman in the
company could sell old man Stewart any rods.
The manager said, "Well, I will just take that bet, just
to teach you how to take better care of your money."
So the bet was made and the manager picked me out
to sell the rods to old man Stewart.
I said I hardly thought it was fair to expect me to sell
rods to Mr. Stewart after three other salesmen had spent
so much time on him and failed. I thought that Mr.
Stewart would be more prejudiced now than he was
before any one had talked to him on the subject, and I
preferred to put in my time in a way that
would be more profitable to me than wasting my time
and talents on a man like Mr. Stewart.
Mr. Gugherty, the manager, said, "Go on, Jess, you
can sell him all right, and to make it more interesting,
I will give you the money won if you sell the rods."
The fifty dollars sounded good to me, so I asked how
much time would be allowed me in which to sell the
rods. Lipscombe said I could take till Judgment day
if I wanted it, only it would postpone the settling of
the bet too long. So, after much talk it was settled
as to the time, and I was given three days to accomplish
what was considered the impossible.
At last after much persuasion I was almost bantered
into trying my skill in the case, so to please the
manager and to get the fifty dollars extra, if possible,
I undertook to sell the lightning rods to Mr. Stewart.
I borrowed a white man as a helper, as my man was
a negro. I told this man that we would drive down
within three or four miles of Mr. Stewart's house,
and he would stop and stay till the next afternoon.
He must then come on down to Mr. Stewart's and
get there just in time to stay all night. I would go
on to Mr. Stewart's on foot and would get a job
with him if I could.
I said to the helper, "when you come to Mr. Stewart's
you must not know me. It makes no difference
what you see me doing, don't you laugh, or show any
signs of recognition. You simply ask for the privilege
of staying all night, and say that you are willing
to pay for your lodging. The following morning you
will know whether I have sold the rods or not."
Well, we went on down to the neighborhood where
Mr. Stewart lived. The wagon with the helper was
stopped about three miles away, and I went on foot
to get a job with Mr. Stewart. When I got to his
house, I was told that he was down at the mill. I went
on to the mill and found him there at work on a mill
wheel. He was a great big man, with a clean shaven
face, and his face was as red as blood, and looked as
if the blood would pop out of the skin. He was
stooping down making some marks on a big piece of
pasteboard. He raised up and took a good look at me
as I spoke to him. I did nearly all the talking. I told
him I wanted a job to make some money, so that I
could get back home, for I lived in North Carolina.
He asked me what I was doing down there. I told
him I went down with a man with some horses and
expected to hold my job longer, but here I was laid
off with little money in my pocket, so I had to go to
work. What could I do? Well, most any kind of
light work as I was not very strong. I had had chills
for about eighteen months, and was not in the best
of health, though I hoped in that high climate, and
working out of doors, I would get strong, and then
could do better work.
This little speech must have made some impression,
the truth always makes an impression, and I stuck to
the truth. Mr. Stewart wanted to know if I knew
anything about water wheels. I said my father was
interested in a mill once and I had seen the workmen
build a wheel much like the old wheel he had there,
though I thought the buckets on my father's wheels
were deeper than the buckets on his wheel. He said
that was exactly what he wanted, a wheel a foot wider
than the old rotten wheel in front of us, and he wanted
a wheel one foot in diameter larger than that one,
and he said, "there ain't a man in this whole county
that has got sense enough to get up the patterns for
such a wheel, or to build it." He said he would have
to send to Columbia to get a man to build the wheel
for him. I said I was hardly able to do the sawing,
chiseling and boring that would be necessary in building
such a wheel, but if he would furnish me a man
who could handle tools, I would lay off the work as
it was needed and I thought we could build the wheel
all right. This pleased Mr. Stewart greatly, and I
started right in measuring up the old wheel, taking
down on an envelope the figures of the width, the
diameter, the depth of the buckets. With all these
measurements I asked for some clean boards to draw
the patterns on. There was plenty of lumber and a
number of niggers to do the work. In a short time
with chalk and pencil I had started to laying the patterns
for the wheel. I put a stake in the ground and
with a cord I made an improvised compass that would
make a circle about eleven feet in diameter. I soon
had the proper size circle by a few trials, and in a little
while I had the end section of the wheel sketched on
these new planks that I had arranged on the ground
for the purpose. As soon as Mr. Stewart saw this,
he showed pleasure in every part of his face. The look
of "I will do it, or die trying" passed away, and in its
place there was a look that said, "the Good Lord is
mighty good to me." I was much pleased with the
progress that I had made with the pattern of the
wheel, and much more pleased to know that I had
pleased Mr. Stewart, and had gained his friendship.
We took our lunch at the mill. I hardly took time to
eat, but was right back at work on the patterns of the
wheel. The other men lounged around for an hour or
two, for the day was warm.
Before night I had finished all the drawings, full
size, so the balance of the work was for the man with
the saw, the auger and the chisel. Mr. Stewart
praised me and said that was the best day's work that
he ever saw done. We went on up to the house. On
the way he asked how much wages I wanted. I told
him to wait and see what I was worth to him. I went
on out to the barn or stables with him and helped
him look after the stock. While we were standing in
the lot, I heard the rattle of chains, and the snap of
wagon wheels and the patter of horses' feet, and looking
up there was my man with the lightning rod
wagon. The man got down and asked if he could
stay all night. Mr. Stewart said, "Yes, I guess so,"
and asked me if I was too tired to help the man with
the horses. I was nearly ready to drop in my tracks,
but said "no, I am not too tired for that." When
I went to the wagon, the man commenced to giggle
and said, "You seem to be getting along very well."
I said, "shut your mouth, you forgot what I told you.
You don't know me at all."
"The H-ll I don't know you!"
About this time Mr. Stewart came toward us, I
thought he heard what the man said, but he did not.
We carried the horses to another stable away from
the farmer's horses. I said to the man, "Now look
here, I am trying to win that money and don't give
me away, and I will give you ten dollars out of the
fifty." This fixed him, so from this we were strangers.
We ate our suppers; the man was sent out to a
little house in the yard to sleep and I was put to
sleep with a little boy. I was so tired and sleepy I
could hardly sit up, but knew I had to lay the foundation
for selling the rods before I went to bed, so I
started to tell a story about when I was a telegraph
operator. I explained all about an electric battery,
how it was made, and mentioned all the chemicals
used, told how certain metals were better conductors
than others, and how a coil of copper wire,
charged with electricity would become a magnet, and
explained how this principle was used to build telegraph
instruments, explained how, by cutting the wire
in two, the electric current was stopped, and how,
when the wire was joined together again, the electric
current would flow, fill the coil and the coil would
become a magnet again.
Then I explained a telegrapher's key, how the key
could be rattled up and down, and would make a quick
sound that we called a "dot" and a slower stroke that
would make what we called a "dash," and with these
"dots and dashes" we composed an alphabet.
That a "dot and a dash" was "a," a "dash and three
dots" was "b," and "two dots, a space and a dot" was
"c," and a "dash and two dots" was "d" and so on
through the alphabet.
As I looked at Mr. Stewart and all the family sitting
around, I saw that my effort was greatly
appreciated, so I went on to my master stroke, the
one thing that I knew would sell the lightning rods if
anything could sell them.
I told about sitting in my telegraph office when a
lightning storm was on the wires, and about the
lightning coming in on the wires, burning up the
paper on the table, knocking me out of my chair, and
injuring the instruments, so I said this taught me a
lesson. I said after this I would always put on my
ground wire, and this carried the electricity down in
the ground.
Then I told him about the lightning striking a cedar
tree in the yard at my old home. It tore the bark off
for a distance down toward the ground; a trace chain
was hanging on a limb, and when the lightning or
electricity got where the chain was it left the tree
and went on the chain to its lower end, then jumped
and tore the bark off all the way to the ground.
By this time the whole family, Mr. Stewart included,
knew exactly how a lightning rod would protect a
house. I said nothing about rods, but bid all good
night and went to bed. I slept well and was up early
the next morning. When we went down to the barn,
Mr. Stewart asked the lightning rod man, how much
it would cost to put rods on his house? The man said
he would figure on it. The truth was he could not
figure at all, so Mr. Stewart discovered that the man
was slow at figures and turned to me and asked if I
could figure it up for the man. I looked up at the
chimney and asked how high it extended above the
top of the house? Mr. Stewart said about ten feet. I
asked the rod man how high he would run the rod
above the top of the chimney? He said about six
feet, so I commenced adding feet together, saying ten
and six is sixteen, and how far in the house is the
chimney? - about ten feet, and ten makes twenty-six
and for the bend around the eaves of the house, six
feet, and six, makes thirty-two, and twenty feet to
the bottom, makes fifty-two feet, and to the ground
four more feet, makes fifty-six feet, and six feet down
in the ground makes sixty-two feet, or about this, at 35c
per foot, makes $21.70 and $3.00 for a point makes
$24.70 for one rod, and three rods three times $24.70,
which makes $74.10. Mr. Stewart said that was
right, and the man could go on and put the rods up.
The man asked for somebody to help him, so Mr.
Stewart asked me if I could spare the time from the
mill wheel to help the man. I thought I could, and
I did, so we put rods on the residence, on the barn,
on the gin house and the mill. The total amount of
the bill was $247.70. After staying three days, I told
Mr. Stewart as we had made no bargain about my
work, and this man was going right back to my home
in North Carolina, that if he would let me off I would
like to go back home to see my mother; this was the
truth, and there was somebody else that I was very
anxious to see, too, that I did not mention.
Mr. Stewart was very kind, said he did not blame
me for wanting to go home, and wanted to pay me
for the work on the wheel, but I said he'd been so kind
we would call it square, so this is how I sold the
lightning rods.
One of his kinsmen, hearing this story in after
years when his success was assured, wrote thus:
"You are the same old Jesse who lightning rodded
the South Carolina man's chimney, and could have
run a rod up his back if you had felt so disposed."
A good talker and worker like him did not leave many
houses unprotected from the stormy elements, but
made such staunch friends among the poor that even
the most rudely constructed buildings had been safeguarded
against lightning after a visit from Jesse.
They were only too proud to do him the honor.
When he had finished these master pieces, in his
own inimitable style, we bade goodbye to merriment
and he took me back home.
I asked him on the way, "Why did you think I'd
leave all my loved ones and go with you to the far
west, without mentioning it to me first?"
"Well, I knew when I asked you at old Liberty
Church that Sunday not to get married till I came
back, and you did not, that you loved me well enough
to go anywhere with me."
- JAMES A. GARFIELD
The
next morning at breakfast my mother looked
so sorrowful, like she had spent a sleepless night,
and even Aunt Pallas was so unusually serious looking,
that I felt my fate was decided.
Jesse
came very early, as he was leaving that night,
and said he must see me as much as possible in the
short time left us. He did not want to see me or be
with me more than I did him, even though we might
be asked to part for good. He was the sunniest hearted
boy the Lord ever made, and the most forgiving. He
met my mother like she were his own, and said,
"Well, Mammy,
what have you decided to do?"
"I have
decided not to stand in your way for happiness,
but you must promise me when you leave for
St. Louis this time, that you will not write or try to
see Laura again in two years. This will give you
both time to know your own mind, and another very
important thing, whether your business will succeed
or fail. If you love Laura as much as you seem to
think now you do, you would not want her to suffer
privations in a distant land, where no relative or friend
is near to help. That is my decision, and, unless you
do this, you will grieve me by any other course of
action. I will leave you both now to talk it over, and
hope you may see the justice to both by acquiescing
in my wishes."
"Mrs. Lee, you know enough of the family history
in this state to know that I came of good stock,
and we can trace our genealogy back to two kings -
France and Ireland. From the great battle of Hastings
on to the present time my father's family have
been statesmen, churchmen and jurists, in England
and America," Jesse proudly remarked.
"Well, Mr. Mercer, that is where you have the advantage
of so many others, not so fortunate; being
well born, you should start right in the world, if there
is true manhood in you. Still I remember an old saying
I once heard of the Washington family, 'that the
best end of the vine was in the ground.' In your
case I sincerely hope that your family tree may bear
better fruit than ever before, by this union with my
daughter, for I have always tried to instill into her
mind the most exalted ideas of goodness and intrinsic
worth. I note with great pleasure on seeing your
'coat of arms,' that a strong right hand is holding the
cross above the crown, and I take it that as a crusader
your ancestor who had that crest bestowed on him
must have been a valiant Christian soldier, and I ask
you still to hold that cross higher than any earthly
honors. Think how many are born in obscurity, and
don't know whether their 'coat of arms' would contain
the 'bar sinister,' if they were rightly informed or
not! Thank God, Mr. Mercer, that you reap a harvest
of good deeds, and may you continue to sow a
heritage for future generations to 'rise up and call
you blessed.'" My mother, after this little homily,
arose and left us.
"Miss Betsey, I can't live without you two
years longer. I shall need you to make a little nest
for me in my new home and among new people. We
can't put off our marriage two long years. It is not
right to ask us, is it? We have already waited two
years."
"Now, Jesse, don't hint at disobeying my mother,
for we would never be happy if we did; two years are
not too long for me to wait for you, if you continue
to love me, and two years would be too long to live
with you if you did not really love me. As the proverb
goes, 'Two years will not be too long for me to get
a good husband, and two years will be too long to
live with a bad one.' "
"You are right, and I will do as your mother
wishes, but it will be hard not to write to my little
sweetheart in that time. Suppose you should grow
indifferent and marry another in the meantime!" he
exclaimed.
"Never fear about me," I replied, "unless another
crops out like the South Carolina musician."
"Now, Miss Betsey, don't ever hint such a thing
again, it is a sore subject to me, and one I don't like
to discuss."
Aunt Pallas came by the window, and Jesse called
to bid her goodbye, she was so much a part of our
household.
"Goodbye Aunt, I am going to leave you all to-night,
for my new home, and don't let the boys steal
Miss Betsey away from me, while I am away making
enough money to buy her plenty of dumplings."
"That's right, Mars Jesse, don't you ever die in debt
to your belly. I knows that Betsey's bin lovin' you
all along, cause she's bin coming out to de kitchen ever
sence you went to Souf Calliny and done nothing but
talk about how purty you is, and how anxious she is
to see you."
"Aunt," I cried, "I think I hear somebody calling
you."
That was a sad parting for us, though he went manfully
to my mother and said, "We have agreed to
do as you desire. I know Miss Betsey loves you
too well to displease you, but Mammy, she loves
me and we shall marry some day, so don't think this
forced absence will make us love one another less,
it will only add fuel to a consuming fire."
Our parting is not for our readers to share, only
the tiny twinkling stars were peeping at us and we
were sure they would tell no tales.
"Now that our separation is near at hand, Miss
Betsey, I am going to leave that name as a thing of
the past. I don't like Laura, that is too cold, and
I have bethought me that 'Bess' will be your name in
all my thoughts, for that is nearer 'best' than anything
else, until I may have the right to call you wife, the
very best of all."
"What is in a name," I quoted, "a rose by any
other name would smell as sweet, and your loving me
by any other name would make you just as dear," I
replied.
- FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE.
Henderson,
the faithful Friday for Jesse, was only
too well pleased to hear that he was to be allowed to
go to St. Louis. The beautiful team of bays that
had helped to decide our fate were sold to my brother,
and I never saw them but I thought how much happiness
and some suffering they had been instrumental in
giving me. They seemed to look at me as if they
knew it would all end happily. Sometimes we would
hold sweet communion together, and wonder where
our kind gentle master was, and if he were thinking
about us. Such intelligence as shone from their mild
eyes bespoke their instinct, and a nod of their proud
heads would satisfy me that they understood and sympathized
with poor "Miss Betsey."
Once in a while there would be a rift in the clouds,
and a little sunshine would creep into my lonesomeness.
I was bridesmaid for my dearest friends, Bettie
Cox and Emma Durham, and my staunch old friend,
Victor Thompson, was the groomsman, who waited
with me.
The wedding of Bettie Cox and Patrick Johns
was celebrated from the bride's home in Clayton.
After the ceremony the bride and groom, with their
numerous attendants, drove through the country to his
mother's, where a wedding feast was spread. Victor
knew, as did all my other friends, that I was engaged,
and he himself was very nearly so. We could therefore
go together and not be in love with each other
or suspected of it, as was usually the case.
&q
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For, lo! my love doth in herself contain
All this world's riches that may be found;
If sapphires, lo! her eyes be sapphires plain;
If rubies, lo! her lips be rubies sound;
If pearls, her teeth be pearls, both pure and round;
If ivory, her forehead Ivory ween;
If gold, her locks are finest gold on ground;
But that which fairest is, but few behold,
Her mind, adorned with virtues manifold.
Page 17
CHAPTER II.
SOME OF THE THINGS THAT HAPPENED.
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A little elbow leans upon your knee,
Your tired knee that has so much to bear;
A child's dear eyes are looking lovingly
From underneath a thatch of tangled hair,
Perhaps you do not heed the velvet touch,
Of warm, moist fingers folding yours so tight,
You do not prize this blessing over-much,
You almost are too tired to pray tonight.
Page 23
CHAPTER III.
OUR REMOVAL TO CLAYTON.
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We live in deed, not years; in thoughts, not breath;
In feelings, not in figures on a dial.
We should count time by heart throbs where they beat
For God, for man, for duty; He most lives
Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best;
Life is but a means unto an end, that end
Beginning, mean and end to all things, God.
Page 29
CHAPTER IV.
THE ATTEMPT TO "TAR AND FEATHER" MY FATHER.
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In war not crafty, but in battle bold,
No wealth I value, and I shun all gold.
Be steel the only metal shall decree
The fate of empire, or to you or me.
The generous conquest be by courage tried,
And all the captives on the Roman side,
I swear by all the gods of open war,
As fate their lives, their freedom I will spare.
Page 33
CHAPTER V.
THE YEAR EIGHTEEN SIXTY-ONE.
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And far from over the distance
The faltering echoes come -
Of the flying blast of the trumpet,
And the rattling roll of drum;
Then the Grandsire speaks in a whisper,
"The end no man can see:
But we give him to his country,
And we give our prayers to Thee."
Page 37
CHAPTER VI.
THE GALLANT FOURTH NORTH CAROLINA REGIMENT
STATE TROOPS.
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"Be of good cheer; your cause belongs
To Him who can avenge your wrongs;
Leave it to Him, our Lord.
Though hidden from our longing eyes,
He sees the Gideon who shall rise
To save us, and His Word."
Page 41
CHAPTER VII.
LETTERS FROM GEORGE AND WALTER.
Our company
arrived here this morning at 8 o'clock.
We had to stay at Beaufort last night, the water being too
rough to carry us over last night. I intended to have
written last night while at Beaufort, but we were so
completely worn out with hollowing, etc., that all of us got
to bed as soon as possible, which was about 12 o'clock.
We have been employed a little while this morning
carrying barrels, etc. It was raining the whole time. They
make no difference here for rain or anything else.
Page 42
As there is a man going by Clayton tomorrow I
thought I would write you a few lines, to let you know
how we are getting along. We are enjoying ourselves
as well as can be expected. We had prayers and singing
this morning by Mr. Cobb. He spoke of the injuries
of the South in an eloquent manner.
Page 43
GEORGE.
We arrived
here about night, the day we left Wilson,
and having raised our tents prepared to get supper,
which we got about 9 o'clock. We are encamped
in an old pine field, which is very hot, but the other
companies that were here before have a very pleasant
oak grove on a hill. The Second regiment, under
Col. Tew, are on the opposite side of the road. Our
Col. Anderson is a fine looking man, about six feet
high, large and muscular, but not corpulent; a high,
broad and intellectual forehead, bold face, and whiskers
(shaped like Walter's), about a foot long.
Page 44
GEORGE.
We
arrived here yesterday, and had to walk about
four miles to our camps, with our knapsacks on our
backs, and everything necessary to soldiers. Before
we left Camp Hill, we got our state uniform, blankets
and all the accouterments. We were nearly worn out
after having walked four miles to our encampment,
the knapsack straps hurt our shoulders, besides the
weight. We expect to leave here for Manassas to-day,
but I do not think we will, as it is raining.
Page 45
As George wrote two or three times since I have, I
told him I would write when we got to Richmond.
The first thing I knew this morning was that he was
writing home, so I told him to leave some room for
me and I would write some in his letter.
Page 46
This
is the first opportunity I have had of writing
to you since I've been here. We do not live as well
here as we have, but we make out very well. We have
to walk about a mile for our water; as the ground is
too rocky to dig a well we get it out of a spring. You
can't imagine how much I wish to see you all, I long
to be free to go where I please. But alas, there is no
telling where I may be, for when we first came here
Page 47
GEORGE.
Page 48
We received your letter this morning when John
Clark came. George wrote a day or two ago, which
you had hardly received when you last wrote. There
is no news of any kind worth writing. George and
myself are both well at present. It has been raining
here for nearly a week, and it is tolerably cool. This
morning was very cool and chilly. It begins to feel
like winter is fast approaching. You spoke of
sending us some winter clothing. We would be very
glad to have a good supply, as we shall suffer if not
well clothed in this cold country. I can almost imagine
now how cold it will be on top of these high hills when
the winter winds come whistling around them. The
following list of clothes will be as many as we shall
need and can take care of conveniently. Two pairs
of thick woolen shirts each, such as can be worn either
next to the skin or over other shirts; two pairs of red
flannel drawers each, and some woolen socks, that is
everything that we shall need for the present. You
can send them by express, and we shall get them. You
need not attempt to come to see us, for it will be impossible
for you to get here. Men are not even allowed
to come after their sons to carry them home when they
die with sickness in the service. I tell you this to save
you the trouble and expense of coming so far and
then having to go back without seeing us. It is a
great deal harder to get back after you get here than
it is to come.
Page 49
WALTER.
As Walter has told you everything, I shall be at a
loss what to say, but I cannot help writing when an
opportunity presents itself. Our fare is bread and butter
and occasionally a little honey. The two latter
articles we buy. The nights have been rather cool
of late, but we have not suffered any yet.
GEORGE.
Page 50
I would have written as soon as I received your
letter if the box had come with it, but as the captain
could not bring them with him, he had to get them
transported on freight, which did not arrive until yesterday.
You never saw such a mess in your life, cakes
molded, meat spoiled, etc. Everything was safe and
sound in our box, which we rejoiced at very much,
for we have not been faring the best for the last
week or two. Tom Stith got a box which was full
of cake and nearly every bit of it was spoiled.
Page 51
GEORGE.
I received your letter this morning and was very
glad to hear from you all, but was very sorry to hear
that sister was sick. There were 544 prisoners brought
in here yesterday morning from Leesburg, an account
of which you have seen in the paper ere now. They
were sent off last night to Richmond. Blake and Jack
Robinson was detailed from our company to go as
guard. Leesburg has since been taken by the enemy.
Our forces retreated seven miles. The enemy are
about to flank us and I think that we shall have to
fight soon for I guess it is very galling to them to have
so many of their men taken prisoners. We have had
frost for several nights and it is already beginning to
turn very cold, but we have not suffered any yet. I
wear two pair of socks in my boots and they do very
well, for it keeps the cold wind off my legs.
Page 52
GEORGE.
Page 53
Dear Sir:
J. S. BARNES.
Page 54
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GEORGE.
Page 56
GEORGE.
Page 57
Page 58
GEORGE.
Page 59
GEORGE.
Page 60
GEORGE.
Page 61
GEORGE.
Page 62
Page 63
Page 64
WALTER.
GEORGE.
Page 65
Page 66
GEORGE.
Page 67
Page 68
WALTER.
Page 69
WALTER.
Page 70
August 15, 1862.
Page 71
WALTER.
30 MILES FROM RICHMOND ON MANAPAS
RAILROAD, August 23rd, 1862.
Page 72
Page 73
WALTER.
Page 74
SOUTH SIDE OF POTOMAC, OPPOSITE
BERLIN, LOUDON CO., Sept. 5, l862.
Page 75
WALTER.
Page 76
MAR. BUNKER'S HILL, VA.,
Sept. 29, 1862.
Page 77
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WALTER.
Page 79
WALTER.
November 14, 1862.
Page 80
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WALTER.
November 27, 1862.
Page 84
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WALTER.
HILL'S DIV., NEAR GUNNEY DEPOT,
12 MILES FROM FREDERICKSBURG,
December 2nd., 1862.
Once
more settled in camp for a little while, long
enough to write, at least, I thought I would let you
know where we are and what we are doing. We are
on the railroad between Richmond and Fredericksburg,
some twelve miles from the latter place. What we
are doing, one hasn't the remotest idea. We can't
tell whether we are going to fight here or not, or how
long we shall stay here. I think the most of our army
is in this vicinity and some part of it is constantly
in motion. Ewell's Division is now passing our encampment.
I'm in hopes we will stay here until our
men get their clothing. Ed Gordon has just returned,
though he does not bring any news from home. He
says that Pat Simms will start back to-day. He
certainly has appointed enough times for starting to
have been here long before now, if he is not able to
Page 86
WALTER.
Page 87
As
I think there will be an opportunity of sending
off a letter in a day or two, I believe I will drop you
a few lines to let you know of some of my adventures
since I last wrote you (Winchester). We have had
rain every day since we left Winchester. I've been
marching about ten to twenty miles a day. After the
first two days our squad of two hundred dwindled
down to about fifteen men, most of whom were
officers. A Lieutenant from Texas commanded us.
We were bound to form squads of some strength to
prevent "bushwhackers" and the enraged citizens from
attacking us on the road. Last summer was nothing
at all to this one in Pennsylvania. Although
I did not have the pleasure of going into
Yankeeland with them, I was following them
in the rear and could see the havoc they did.
The squad that I was in, the first night we
got into Pennsylvania, killed a hog near a man's house
and then sent two men to him to borrow cooking utensils
to cook it in, most of them would make the expression,
"I reckon you got your rations out of the field."
Page 88
I
received your letter day before yesterday, just as
we received orders to march. We marched about fifteen
Page 89
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WALTER.
Page 91
NORTH OF RAPIDAN STATION, Sept. 22, 1863.
I had
intended to write you the very day we left
Orange Court House, but the movement prevented
me. We left there yesterday week, marched towards
Rapidan, camped near the river for two days, hearing
the cannonading between our forces and the Yankees
the whole time, neither crossing in any force. Our
cavalry made a dash across the river, taking some
thirty prisoners. The Second North Carolina Cavalry
are on the other side of the river now and is thought
to be cut off. We are now eighteen miles from Orange
Court House on the Rapidan river. I can't
learn the name of the ford. Our division
is in line of battle, about one mile from the
river. We have thrown up some breastworks
and we have an excellent position. All I
hope is that the Yankees may come across, for I
feel confident we can whip them worse than they
have ever been yet. A deserter who came across says
they have only two corps and that they are most conscripts.
He says they are deserting by the hundreds.
Last evening our division moved in a piece of woods
some three hundred yards in rear of our breastworks.
I suppose it was done that the men might keep more
comfortable. Night before last we had a pretty smart
frost and the wind blew like winter. I spent two thirds
of the night by the fire to keep warm. My pair of
blankets got left in one of the wagons.
Page 92
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WALTER.
ON RAPIDAN RIVER, October 5th, 1863.
I received
your letter of the 23rd yesterday while
on picket duty and it seems to me from the way in
which you write that you did not receive my last letter.
I don't think that it has been two weeks since I wrote
you; 'twas soon after Harry Warren got back. We
are at the same camp we were when Henry came. Our
Brigade does picket on the river at Morton's Ford.
We (that is, our Regiment) have to go on every fourth
night. Night before last was a terrible night, cold
and rainy, and the wind was pretty cutting. Our line
is on the river bank, in a cornfield. The Yankees are
on the other side, some four hundred yards distance.
We have no communication with them, it being against
Page 94
Page 95
STATION, VA., October 18, 1863.
I
received your very welcome letter and did intend
answering it last evening, but we were ordered to
move, which prevented me from doing so. We left
Page 96
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WALTER.
Page 98
November 11th, 1863.
We
are once more in our same camp on the Rapidan,
which we left just a month ago. We had just begun
to be comfortable in our winter quarters on the Rappahannock
when the Yankees run us out. Last Saturday,
about ten o'clock, the Yankees attacked our
picket line on the river, composed of the Second and
Thirtieth N. C. Regiments of our Brigade, driving
them back, taking a great many of them prisoners.
Col. Cox, of the Second, was badly wounded and
afterwards died. The attack was a perfect surprise.
Page 99
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WALTER.
December 3rd, 1863.
I
know you are anxious to hear from me, so I
thought I would write, if not but a few lines, to let
you hear from me and to know that I was well and
Page 101
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WALTER.
OURT HOUSE, January 10, 1864.
I
received your letter by mail, also the one you sent
by Mixson. We were on picket at the time. Mixson
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WALTER.
Page 105
NEAR ORANGE COURT HOUSE, Jan. 26, 1864.
Your
letter of the 16th inst. received a few days
ago. Mr. Christman and the boxes got here Sunday
night. Everything came safely, with the exception
of Tom Stith's box, that got stolen passing through
Richmond; the practiced thieves around Richmond can
steal anything.
Page 106
WALTER.
February 8, 1864.
I
received your letter last week and I had just commenced to
answer it when I heard commotion at Morton's
Ford. Our Brigade was on picket last week, one
week sooner than our time, in consequence of Gen.
Battle's and Johnston's Brigades having gone somewhere,
I suppose to North Carolina. I was on camp
guard at the time and was left for camp duty. Our
Brigade had fallen in to start back to camp when our
cannon on picket fired into the Yankees then graping.
Before the boys could get to the breastworks, the Yankees
had driven the picket line into them. They kept up
a pretty sharp skirmish for three or four hours. The
sharpshooters got so near to each other that they run
and shot each other around a house, one Yankee was
killed on the piazza of the house. There was only
one man in our Brigade that was hurt, his name was
W. A. Driver, belonging to our company. He was
wounded on the skirmish line. The Yankees lost some
ten or fifteen. We killed one of their Generals, but
they succeeded in getting him across the river. That
night our line of pickets were posted in their same
old posts. We heard here in camp that the Yankees
were about to take our breastworks.
Page 107
WALTER.
February, 1864.
I
received your letter dated February 21st, Friday,
and I should have answered it yesterday, but for the
Page 108
Page 109
WALTER.
I
wrote you a short letter only a few days ago, but
as some little excitement outside of our regular routine
of duty has occurred within the past few days,
I thought I would drop you a little history of it. Governor
Vance arrived among us last Friday evening,
and was the guest of General Daniel. He delivered
a speech before that Brigade last Saturday evening.
ALL the Generals of note in this army were present
and on the stage with him, embracing Generals Lee,
Ewell, A. P. Hill, Stewart, Wilcox, Rodes and a good
many others whose names I did not know; there were
some twelve or fifteen in number. I did not hear but
a part of the speech, as the crowd was so large that
I could not get in a hundred yards of him.
Page 110
WALTER.
Page 111
Once
more in our same old quarters, though we
little thought a week ago that we would ever live to see
them again. We had a very quiet time on picket this
week, at the same time the most pleasant we have had
this winter. Only one day and night of rain, the rest
of the time the most delightful kind of weather. The
boys when not on duty amused themselves at various
sports, some fishing, some digging ground hogs out
of their holes (an animal that I never saw until I
came to Virginia), while nearly the whole regiment
amused themselves gathering wild onions. The doctors
recommend them very highly on account of their
preventing scurvy. Gen. Ransom had a kettle for
each company brought down the line, for the purpose
of cooking them. We had one man from our regiment
Company D. to desert while on his post. He left
his gun and accoutrements and swam the river.
Page 112
WALTER.
Page 113
A
soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers,
There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of
woman's tears;
But a comrade stood beside him, while his lifeblood ebbed
away,
And
bent, with pitying glances, to hear what he might say.
The
dying soldier faltered, and he took that comrade's hand,
As
he said, "I never more shall see my own, my native land;
Take
a message, and a token, to some distant friends of mine,
For
I was born at Bingen, - at Bingen on the Rhine."
His
trembling voice grew faint and hoarse,
His grasp was childish, weak, -
His eyes put on a dying look, -
He sighed and ceased to speak.
His comrade bent to lift him,
But the spark of life had fled, -
The
soldier of the Legion in a foreign land is dead!
And
the soft moon rose up slowly,
And calmly she looked down
On
the red sand of the battle-field,
With bloody corses strewn,
Yes,
calmly on that dreadful scene
Her
pale light seemed to shine,
As
it shone on distant Bingen, - fair Bingen - on the Rhine.
COURT HOUSE, VA., May 14, 1864.
Through
the kind providence of the Almighty God
I have come out so far safe and sound and am spared
once more to gladden your hearts by writing you. I
scarcely know what to write you about or where to
commence. Pen cannot describe or words relate the
many adventures which we have passed through during
the past ten days. We have been fighting to-day,
makes eleven days and we have repulsed and whipped
the Yankees every time they have attacked us. God
only knows how much longer the battle will last, but if
Page 114
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Page 116
COURT HOUSE, VA., May 17, 1864.
Again
by kind Providence I am permitted to write
you a short letter. There has been no general engagement
Page 117
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Page 119
SECOND DIVISION, WARD 28,
May 25th, 1864.
You
will undoubtedly be surprised and I fear alarmed
to receive a letter from me at this place. But do not let
your mind feel any uneasiness at all. Kind providence has
so far favored me that I have passed through another
very severe battle with only a skin wound on the inside of
my knee. Though the exposure that we had to endure that
evening and night (Thursday, the 19th inst.), was most too
much for me. We fought for three or four hours in the
evening, in a drenching rain, until night coming on, we
rectified our lines, threw up some little breastworks with
our bayonets, anticipating a night attack by the Yankees.
Our lines were in speaking distance of each other. The
Yankees would give us a cheer, then our boys would
answer with a deafening Rebel Yell. Gen. Ramseur
hallooed out to them twice, "Come on Yankees," but they
did choose to do so, though I believe they tried to make
their men charge us, as we would hear their commands to
that effect. We lay there about half the night, in the mud
and water, behind our little mound of earth thrown up
with our bayonets and hands, when we were ordered to
fall back as quietly as possible.
Page 120
WALTER.
I take
this occasion to drop you a few lines, as you
will be more likely to get it if I send it by Capt. Thompson
than by mail. I got with the regiment last
Page 121
WALTER.
Page 122
POINT LOOKOUT, MD., Sept. 29, 1864.
At
the battle of Winchester, fought the 19th of
this month, myself, together with seven others of
our company, were captured, namely Henry Warren,
Emerson Winstead, Pat Wooten, Bunyan Barnes, Edwin
Barnes, Byrant Stokes and Joel Taylor. All of
us are in very good health. All of us have written
although some of our letters may be lost. Give my love
to all the family. Please write as soon as you receive
this. Direct me care of Major Brady, Provost Marshal.
Let me know whether Blake was killed or
wounded. Goodbye, believe me as ever.
WALTER.
The friends, so linked together,
I've seen around me fall,
Like leaves in wintry weather,
I feel like one
Who treads alone
Some banquet hall deserted,
Whose light are fled,
Whose garlands dead,
And all but he departed;
Thus, in the stilly night,
Ere slumber's chain has bound me,
Sad memory brings the light
Of other days around me.
Page 123
Christmas Day, Dec. 25, '64.
I intended
to have written the day after getting
here, but it rained all day and the coldest kind of a
rain too. The next day we received orders to move.
We had almost completed our winter quarters and
the boys hated to leave very much. We did not think
at the time we should ever come back again, though
some men from each company was left in camp to take
care of the things. I was the one from our company
left.
Page 124
Page 125
WALTER.
NEAR PETERSBURG,
COX'S BRIGADE, RODES' DIVISION,
W. VA., January 15, 1865.
McBride
came night before last and brought everything
safely, except the butter. He looked all over
his baggage and we searched the box thoroughly, but
could not find it. The articles which you sent me were
the very articles which we needed most, especially the
peas. We draw one third of a pound of meat now
and we make out very well. You need not send me
any more meat, as you need that more than we do.
Send such things as peas, potatoes and such things as
you make plenty of and do not have to buy. We are
very comfortably fixed up in our winter quarters now.
We have been busy cleaning up for the past two weeks
and I shall be glad when we finish. The boys have
gone into these quarters with less spirit than any we
have ever built. We would not be surprised at any
moment to receive marching orders, and none of us
have any idea of staying here until spring. The
greater part of the soldiers seem to be in low spirits
and a good many say the Confederacy has "gone up"
(as they term it), and that we are whipped. I have
never seen the men so discouraged before. I hear
also that the men are deserting the front lines and
Page 126
WALTER.
Page 127
NEAR PETERSBURG, January 18, 1865.
I
send by the boy Church, a pair of shoes, a pair
of socks. Brother can have the shoes fixed up and
wear them. I guess they will fit him. I never expect
to wear them again. The socks only need a little
darning to make them serviceable. I shall let you
know when I shall need any more. The book I send is
a pretty story of the present war. Everything seems
to be unusually quiet. I understand picket firing has
been stopped on the lines. We haven't heard any for
several days, neither have we heard any cannonading.
The peace question is all the excitement in camp now.
From what I saw in the "Examiner" this morning I
think myself there is something in the wind. I do
hope peace will be made before spring. The men are
getting very discouraged, and to tell the truth, they
have cause to be. Some of our regiment was down on
the lines Sunday, and they say the troops have not
had any meat for five days. If the men are not fed
they will not stay with the army. They are deserting
from the lines every night, and going to the Yankees.
Don't send me anything else that you will have to
buy, or need before the end of the year. We expect
to go on picket this coming Sunday, to be gone a
week. My love to all.
WALTER.
Page 128
NEAR PETERSBURG, VA., Jan. 29, 1865.
I
received your letter dated 20th inst., yesterday,
which made nine days that it has been on the way.
Page 129
WALTER.
February 14, 1865.
I
would have written on receipt of your letter and
box, which you sent me, but the troops were off at
the time and there was no means of mailing a letter.
Our division was ordered down on the extreme right
last Sunday a week ago, to meet the Yankees at
Hatcher's Run. Our division was not engaged; the
other two divisions of our corps did some fighting
before we got there. The troops were gone about
a week, and they suffered considerably from the cold.
It was snowing and sleeting when they left. I missed
the pleasure of that trip. I have been permanently
detailed at brigade headquarters in charge of a guard,
to guard quartermaster's stores, and things generally
among the wagon yards. I have three in charge, and
all I have to do is to see that they do their duty. We
Page 130
WALTER.
Page 131
PETERSBURG, VA., March 23rd, 1865.
I
received your letter, bearing the date of March
14th, a few minutes ago. It seems that about nine
days is the average length of time for a letter to come
from home here. I wrote you a letter just before we
left the old camp, which you have doubtless received
ere this. We have moved twice since I wrote that
letter. After the first move, we were temporarily attached
to Mahone's Division, the last move we made
we joined our own division, which is in the entrenchments
in front of Petersburg. Our Brigade is on the
extreme left of it, between the Appomattox River and
Swift Creek, with the river between us and the Yankees.
Page 132
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WALTER.
Except now and then a stray picket
Is
shot as he walks on his beat, to and fro,
By a rifleman hid in the thicket;
'Tis
nothing, a private or two, now and then,
Will
not count in the news of the battle,
Not as officers lost - only one of the men
Moaning
out, all alone the death rattle."
Page 134
"What are we set on earth for? Say, to toil -
Nor seek to leave thy tending of the vines,
For all the heat o' the day, till it declines,
And Death's mild curfew shall from work assoil.
God did anoint thee with His odorous oil,
To wrestle, not to reign; and He assigns
All thy tears over, like pure crystallines,
For younger fellow-workers of the soil
To wear for amulets. So others shall
Take patience, labor, to their heart and hand,
From thy hand and thy heart, and thy brave cheer,
And God's grace fructify through thee to all.
The least flower with a brimming cup, may stand
And share its dew-drop with another near."
Page 135CHAPTER VIII.
MY FIRST SCHOOL DAYS.
Page 136
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Page 138
Of all the thoughts of God that are
Borne inward into souls afar,
Along the Psalmist's music deep,
Now tell me if there any is,
For gift or grace surpassing this,
"He giveth His beloved sleep."
Page 139CHAPTER IX.
MY FATHER'S DEATH AND BURIAL.
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Page 145
Comest to dwell a pilgrim here;
Thy voice is music, thy smile is love,
And pity's soul is in thy tear.
When on the shrine of God were laid
First fruits of all most good and fair,
That ever bloomed in Eden's shade,
Thine was the holiest offering there.
Page 146
Some murmur, when their sky is clear
And wholly bright to view,
If one small speck of dark appear
In their great heaven of blue.
And some with thankful love are filled,
If but one streak of light,
One ray of God's good mercy gild
The darkness of their night.
Page 147CHAPTER X.
HOW THE SHERIFF SWINDLED MY MOTHER.
Page 148
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Haste not! rest not! calmly wait;
Meekly bear the storms of fate!
Duty be thy polar guide; -
Do the right whate'er betide!
Haste not! rest not! conflicts part
God shall crown thy work at last.
Page 155CHAPTER XI.
THE WORK WE ALL DID DURING THE WAR.
Page 156
Page 157
Page 158
Bring
the good old bugle, boys! we'll sing another song -
Sing
it with a spirit that will start the world along -
Sing
it as we used to sing it, fifty thousand strong,
While we were marching thro' Georgia.
Hurrah! hurrah! we bring the jubilee!
Hurrah!
hurrah! the flag that makes you free!
So
we sang the chorus from Atlanta to the sea,
While we were marching thro' Georgia.
Page 159CHAPTER XII.
SHERMAN'S MARCH TO RALEIGH, NORTH CAROLINA.
Page 160
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Page 164
What
different lots our stars accord;
This
babe to be hailed and wooed as a Lord,
And
that to be shunned like a leper;
One,
to the world's wine, honey and corn,
Another,
like Colchester native, born
To its vinegar only, and pepper.
Page 165CHAPTER XIII.
THE "BUMMERS" AND "RED STRINGS."
Page 166
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Page 170
Then the futt and the dthragoons
In squadthrons and platoons,
With their music playing chimes down upon us bore;
And they bate the rattatoo,
And ended the shalvo on the Shannon shore.
Page 171CHAPTER XIV.
THE "KU KLUX KLAN."
Page 172
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Page 176
Such was he, our Martyr-Chief,
Whom late the nation he had led,
With ashes on her head,
Wept with the passion of an angry grief;
Forgive
me, if from present things I turn
To speak what in my heart will burn,
And
hang my wreath on his world honored urn.
Nature they say doth dote
And cannot make a man
Save on some worn-out plan,
Repeating as by rote:
For
him her Old World moulds aside she threw,
And choosing sweet clay from the breast
Of the unexhausted West,
With stuff untainted shaped a hero new,
Wise,
steadfast in the strength of God and true.
Page 177CHAPTER XV.
HOW I FIRST MET "UNCLE NED."
Page 178
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Page 190
The bonnie, bonnie bairn, sits pokin' in the ase,
Glowerin' in the fire wi' his wee round face;
Laughin' at the fuffin lowe - what sees he there?
Ha! the young dreamer's diggin' castles in the air!
Page 191CHAPTER XVI.
THE BEAUTIFUL PINK FROCK.
Page 192
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Page 198
We shape ourselves the joy or fear
Of which the coming life is made,
And fill our future atmosphere
With sunshine or with shade.
Page 199CHAPTER XVII.
MY FIRST GREAT SACRIFICE.
Page 200
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Page 206
All hail to the Lordlings of high degree,
Who live not more happy, tho' greater than we;
Our pastimes to see 'em under every green tree,
In all the gay woodland, right welcome ye be.
Page 207CHAPTER XVIII.
THE STATE TOURNAMENT.
Page 208
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Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the West;
Through all the wide border his steed was the best;
And save his good broad-sword, he weapons had none;
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.
So faithful in love and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.
Page 217CHAPTER XIX.
THE GREAT RACE.
Page 218
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The lady, in truth, was young, fair and gentle; and never
was given
To more heavenly eyes the pure azure of heaven.
Never yet did the sun touch to ripples of gold
Tresses brighter than those which her soft hand unrolled
From her noble and innocent brow, when she rose,
An Aurora, at dawn, from her balmy repose,
And into the mirror the bloom and the blush
Of her beauty broke, glowing, like light in a gush from the
sunrise in summer.
Page 229CHAPTER XX.
THE CROWNING OF NEALIE FOR QUEEN.
Page 230
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In the midst was seen,
A lady of a more majestic mien,
By stature and by beauty marked their Sovereign Queen.
And as in beauty she surpassed the choir,
So nobler than the rest was her attire;
A crown of ruddy gold enclosed her brow,
Plain without pomp, and rich without a show,
A branch of Agnus Cactus in her hand,
She bore aloft her symbol of command.
Page 235CHAPTER XXI.
THE CORONATION BALL.
Page 236
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Two wedded from the portals stept:
The bells made happy carollings,
The air was soft as fanning wings,
White petals on the pathway slept,
O pure-eyed bride!
O tender pride!
Page 241CHAPTER XXII.
THE MARRIAGE OF ASHLEY AND NEALIE.
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FATE.
And speak in different tongues, and have no thought
Each of the other's being, and no heed;
And these o'er unknown seas to unknown lands
Shall cross, escaping wreck, defying death;
And all unconsciously shape every act
And bend each wandering step to this one end -
That one day, out of darkness, they shall meet
And read life's meaning in each other's eyes.
And two shall walk some narrow way of life,
So nearly side by side that should one turn
Ever so little space to left or right,
They must needs acknowledge face to face;
And yet with wistful eyes that never meet,
With groping hands that never clasp, and lips
Calling in vain to ears that never hear,
They seek each other all their weary days,
And die unsatisfied - and this is Fate.
Page 247CHAPTER XXIII.
THE CONQUERING HERO COMES.
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The fountains mingle with the river,
And the rivers with the ocean;
The winds of Heaven mix forever,
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things by a law divine
In one another's being mingle -
Why not I with thine?
Page 255CHAPTER XXIV.
THE BAPTIZING AT STALLINGS' MILL.
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There is a time when life is life indeed,
When love is love and all about it bright;
It is betrothal when great joy has need
Of sleep to cool the hot heart of delight;
Because of you this sweetness came to me,
And with a chain of flowers my life was led,
But after all what may the meaning be?
Why a betrothal if we may not wed.
Page 261CHAPTER XXV.
THE MEETING AT THE WELL.
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Love, I will tell you what it is to love!
It is to build with human thoughts a shrine,
Where hope sits brooding like a beauteous dove,
Where Time seems young and life a thing divine.
All tastes, all pleasures, all desires combine
To consecrate this sanctuary of bliss.
Above, the stars in cloudless beauty shine;
Around the streams their flowery margins kiss,
And if there's heaven on earth, that heaven is surely this.
Page 265CHAPTER XXVI.
JESSE FALLS IN LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT.
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O Dinna ask me gin I lo'e ye;
Troth I daunna tell!
Dinna ask me gin I lo'e ye, -
Ask it o' yoursel'.
Page 271CHAPTER XXVII.
I AM NOT FAR BEHIND.
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Tears, idle tears! I know not what they mean,
Tears, from the depth of some divine despair,
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,
In looking on the happy autumn fields,
And thinking of the days that are no more.
Page 275CHAPTER XXVIII.
HIS DEPARTURE AND MY GRIEF.
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I do not think where'er thou art,
Thou hast forgotten me;
And I, perhaps, may soothe this heart,
In thinking, too, of thee;
Yet there was round thee such a dawn
Of light ne'er seen before,
As fancy never could have drawn,
And never can restore!
Page 281CHAPTER XXIX.
HEAR RUMOR OF ENGAGEMENT TO ANOTHER GIRL.
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Oh! hadst thou never shared my fate,
More dark that fate would prove,
My heart were truly desolate,
Without thy soothing love.
But thou has suffered for my sake,
Whilst this relief I found,
Like fearless lips that strive to take
The poison from a wound.
My fond affection thou hast seen,
Then judge of my regret,
To think more happy thou hadst been,
If we had never met!
And has that thought been shared by thee?
Ah, no! that smiling cheek,
Proves more unchanging love for me,
Than laboured words could speak.
Page 285CHAPTER XXX.
I AM VERY UNHAPPY.
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O, have I lived or have I loved,
In any years before?
For now I cannot dream of joy,
Save with him evermore.
I would and would not, love and fear,
Make up so large a sum
Within my foolish heart today,
The heart that he has won.
O, lavish lights and floating shades,
I would you were no more;
Fly down and haunt the midnight glades,
And tell me day is o'er.
Dear joy, keep my secret safe;
Like him you cannot guess;
That life and love are centered here,
Where I have written - "Yes."
Page 291CHAPTER XXXI.
OUR ENGAGEMENT.
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Which this railway smash reminds me in an underhanded
way,
Of a lightning-rod dispenser that came down on me one day.
My wife - she liked the stranger, smilin' on him warm and
sweet;
(It al'ays flatters women when their guests are on the eat!)
And he hinted that some ladies never lose their youthful
charm,
And caressed her yearlin' baby, and received it in his arms.
My sons and daughters liked him - for he had progressive
views,
And he chewed the cud o' fancy, and gi'n down the latest
news;
And I couldn't help but like him - as I fear I al'ays must,
The gold of my own doctrines in a fellow-heap o' dust,
Page 299CHAPTER XXXII.
ONE EVENING'S ENTERTAINMENT.
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Page 301THE CLOCK STORY.
In Robeson County, near Lumberton, North Carolina,
a little town in the eastern part of the state, there
are at least a dozen families of Scotch descent, some
of them live in the little town, some of them live on
farms a mile or two from town. All of these people
are very thrifty, they work hard and save their money,
and all of them have money in the bank.
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Page 316MR. PEEL'S CURIOSITY.
Down in Eastern North Carolina there is a railroad
from Weldon to Wilmington, a part now of the Atlantic
Coast Line. This road passes through many little
towns. Among others, there is a little town down
near Wilmington called Burgaw. It is not much
of a town. It has one store, one church, one
blacksmith shop, one turpentine distillery, one cotton
gin, one saw mill, one boarding house, which the
owner calls a hotel. The proprietor of this hotel is
a very unique character. He has the reputation of
having more curiosity than any man in the whole
state. It has been said about him that when a stranger
came to town Mr. Peel (for this was his name), would
quit his business and follow him around and listen
to everything that he would say, so that he could guess,
by what he heard, who the stranger was, what was
his name, where he came from, how long he intended
to stay, and where he was going when he left.
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Page 322JESSE'S MASTERPIECE.
At a meeting of the salesmen of a Lightning Rod
Company that I am working for in the town of Greenville,
S. C., one of the salesmen named Lipscombe told a story
about his efforts to sell lightning rods to a Mr.
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'Tis beauteous night; the stars look brightly down
Upon the earth, decked in her robe of snow;
No light gleams at the window, save my own
Which gives it cheer to midnight and to one,
And now with noiseless step, sweet memory comes,
And leads me gently through her twilight realms,
What poet's tuneful lyre has ever sung,
Or delicate pencil e'er portrayed,
The enchanted shadow land where memory dwells?
It has its valleys cheerless, lone and drear,
Dark shaded by the mournful cypress tree,
And yet its sunlight, mountain tops are bathed,
In Heaven's own blue, upon its craggy cliffs,
Robed in the dreamy light of distant years,
Are clustered joys serene of other days.
Page 335CHAPTER XXXIII.
HOW MY MOTHER DISPOSED OF US.
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What shall I do with all the days and hours
That must be counted ere I see thy face?
How shall I charm the interval that comes
Between this time and that sweet time of grace?
I will this dreary blank of absence make
A noble task-time, and will therein strive
To follow excellence, and to o'ertake
More good than I have won since yet I live.
So may this doomed time build up in me
A thousand graces, which shall thus be thine;
So may my love and longing hallowed be,
And thy dear thought and influence divine.
Page 341CHAPTER XXXIV.
JESSE'S ENFORCED ABSENCE.
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