HOW IT WAS;
FOUR YEARS AMONG THE REBELS.

BY MRS. IRBY MORGAN,

Nashville, Tenn.

PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR.
PUBLISHING HOUSE METHODIST EPISCOPAL CHURCH, SOUTH.
BARBEE & SMITH, AGENTS, NASHVILLE, TENN.
1892.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1892,
BY MRS. IRBY MORGAN
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

DEDICATED
TO THE
CONFEDERATE SOLDIERS.

INTRODUCTORY WORDS.

        Mrs. Morgan is a Southern woman, and the throb of her womanly heart is in every line. The splendid courage of the soldiers of the Confederacy finds part of its explanation in the intense devotion, unfailing fortitude, and sublime self-sacrifice of the women of the South. The sons and husbands of such women could not be cowards. Even in a case in which cowardice might be in the blood or the nerves, the inspiration of woman's sympathy and the traditions of a people where courage is hereditary, and among whom true chivalry yet lingers in this materialistic and sordid age, the constitutionally timid were swept into the current and carried forward on the crest of the fiery waves of war.

        It is worthy of notice that Mrs. Morgan, writing more than a

quarter of a century after the war, expresses no doubt of the righteousness of the Southern cause. Whatever may be said of the people of the South, and whatever may be the ultimate verdict of the world, it is uttering nonsense to say that their hearts were not in the struggle. Men do not die and women do not suffer, as the men and women of the South died and suffered, for a cause that is not dear to them. Had not the hearts of the men and women of the South been in the cause, the Confederacy would have collapsed with its first serious reverse. The leaders of the South did not drag the Southern people into the war any more than did the leaders of the North drag the Northern people into it. They had been drifting into its vortex for two generations, and what had been long dreaded and foretold came in 1861.

        Reconstruction has been effected, and reconciliation has been so greatly advanced that hopeful patriots of all sections indulge the expectation that the time is not far off when the last note of sectional discord will be hushed, and the last sectional politician will be buried deep with his face downward. But it may be said here, as it has been said before, that if it is insisted that, as a condition of perfect reconciliation, the Southern people shall acknowledge that the boys in gray fought and died for a cause they believed to be wrong, the trumpet of the last judgment will sound before they will make the shameful concession. They were defeated, but they made a good fight for what they believed to be a just cause. They died for their convictions, and no Southern man or woman will seek to fix upon their memories the blot of insincerity Neither will any true man or woman of the North seek thus to smirch the memory of our dead heroes. The women of the two sections who still mourn for their dead who sleep where they fell may clasp hands in a sacrament of sorrow and forgive on both sides, but they cannot forget.

        Within the bounds of Mrs. Morgan's personal acquaintance in

Nashville and elsewhere she is well esteemed as a lady of the highest social respectability and Christian virtues. Beyond that circle is the general public, to whom I commend these pages with these "Introductory Words," with the belief that they will greatly enjoy their perusal, and with the hope that, having yielded to the urgent request of her family and friends in giving this book to the press, the author may be rewarded by a large measure of success.

O. P. FITZGERALD.

March 4, 1892.

HOW IT WAS.

CHAPTER I.

        Drums were beating, fifes playing, the boys coming in troops to enlist for the war, and anxious fathers and mothers could be met at every point. All were earnest and anxious, as few had anticipated the result of the wrangling the country had had for years; and now war was upon us, and we totally unprepared for it.

        All the old guns and muskets to be found were brought into requisition, and many consulted as to how to use them, how they could be remodeled, etc., and we of the South were in a dilemma what to do; but we went on the presumption, "where

there's a will there's a way," to get us out of difficulty, and the result proved it.

        Mr. V. K. Stevenson and others formed a company to gather war materials, and my husband, Mr. Irby Morgan, was selected by him to go to New Orleans, Louisville, and other points to get sulphur and other material for making caps.

        Col. Samuel D. Morgan took great interest in the cap factory, and it was a success, for in a short time they were making thousands. Mr. Morgan brought home two of the first perfect caps, and requested me to keep them as souvenirs of the war. The caps that were used at Manassas and Bull Run were made in our cap factory of the material bought by my husband. After this factory had proved a success, Mr. Morgan and others were sent to hunt wool to make clothes for our soldiers, and he went to Texas and other points and bought four hundred and fifty thousand pounds and had it shipped to Nashville, and from here he took it to factories in Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, and East Tennessee to be made in Confederate gray. He went to the factories and got the cloth, and the last he procured Gen. Rody had to send an escort to guard the wagons, and he delivered to the department in Atlanta five hundred thousand yards of Confederate gray

which he had had made at a cost of seventy-five cents a yard, when it was selling in the market at five dollars a yard. After he returned from Texas, then our work began.

        Col. Terry's gallant command from Texas came through the marshes of Louisiana, in water and mud almost waist deep, and most of them took severe colds, and by the time they got to Nashville a number were sick. To add to their troubles, the measles broke out among them. Hospitals were hurriedly fitted up, and they were soon crowded. The citizens were greatly distressed, and the ladies went in troops to see them, to take delicacies, and to do all to alleviate their sufferings. Miss Jane Thomas, Mrs. Felicia Porter, and many others were untiring in their attentions; but the hospitals were so crowded and uncomfortable that a number decided to take them to their homes and nurse them. A great many were young, petted darlings at home, and of course they were wretched. I took Capt. Rice, a grand old man who lived on Trinity River on a large farm; also Frank Roan, Capt. Hunter, and Frank Kibbe, all four from Texas, and Levi Jones, of East Tennessee. All were very ill with measles and terrible coughs, and we sent for our family physician and did all we could for them, sitting up and nursing for two

months. I hired a nurse and got the boys from the store to help sit up with them. Capt. Hunter was delirious for two weeks, and Capt. Rice as ill as could be to live, and we watched and waited as tenderly as possible. After two months Capt. Hunter got strong enough to join his command, so did Frank Roan and Kibber; that left me with Levi Jones and Capt. Rice. Dr. Atchison told me he thought Capt. Rice would die. I was much distressed, for I had become greatly attached to the old man. I went to him and said: "Captain, you are very sick; I fear you will not get well." He said, with a great deal of earnestness and quiet dignity: "Madam, I am an old man. I have plenty at home, a large farm, negroes, no wife nor children, and the boys were all leaving, and I loved them and could not stand to see them go without me, and I thought a country that had done so much for me I ought to fight for it." I said: "My dear old friend, you must try to think of a better land, to which you are fast hastening. Look to God for help. We have done all we can for you; now beg God to help you to be ready to meet him." He said: "I have always been charitable, have ever been kind to my negroes, and old Master will deal kindly with me. I have no fears." And just as the glorious sun rose the old man's

spirit took its flight, I hope to a better world. We buried him at Mt. Olivet.

        All were gone now but Levi. He seemed delighted with his surroundings; would come into my room and would sit for hours with the children and myself and tell me about his mother, sisters, and brothers, and wish he was at home with them. He said he wished he was at home so he could go to the singing school. He was tired of the war. He reverted to the singing school again and again, and said they made the prettiest music he ever heard, indeed they were powerful singers. One day I said I thought the fresh air would do him good: "I will have the carriage ready, and I want you to take a ride." He was delighted, and observed that he thought it would do him "a power of good." As he crossed the bridge he saw his first steamboat; and he was charmed, and told me when he got home that he thought "it was such a good idea, houses floatin' on water, and a feller could fish all the way down." He got to looking well and ate heartily, and I said "Levi, I expect soon they will call on you to join your command." He said: "Yes; I am looking any day to be sent for, but I am powerful weak." He screwed up his courage enough to appoint a time to join his regiment, but when the fatal day arrived he came

to my room with a handkerchief bound around his jaws. I asked him what was the matter. He said his tooth was killing him it was aching so bad. I got him camphor, laudanum, and warm cloths to apply, and he sat with his head bent down in his hands and rocked and moaned and, as I thought, oblivious to all surroundings; but all of a sudden he looked up with his keen, black eyes, and said: "When I go home, I am going to send you a barrel of apples and sweet taters." I thanked him, and said he was very kind; and then he would rock and moan again, seeming in great agony. After being silent for some time, he raised his head again and said: "Miss Morgan, California must be a great country. Sweet taters grows thar an trees, and weighs sixty pounds." I told him I thought it wonderful. He was just nineteen, and could I have done so, I would have sent him home to his mother to be happy. After his toothache was cured he could find no other excuse, so finally, with great reluctance, he joined his command.

CHAPTER II.

        One day it was announced that Gen. Beauregard and Father Ryan would give a talk on the war, at Masonic Hall, so we went to hear them. This was soon after the battles of Bull Run and Manassas, and they had a great deal that was encouraging to say. After the lecture was over we went up to the platform and were introduced to them, and expressed pleasure at hearing them give so encouraging accounts of our prospects. Gen. Beauregard spoke of the battles of Manassas and Bull Run, and said the Federals were so demoralized that if we had been prepared to pursue them we could have gone to Washington and dictated terms of peace. He asked my husband if he was related to Gen. John T. Morgan, and he told him he was his brother. He said we ought to be proud of him, for at a critical time in the battle he, by his strategy, helped to turn the tide in our favor. We told him that Nashville had made the caps that fought those battles. I never will forget Father Ryan's noble countenance, so full of love and gentleness. He had long hair, a handsome face, and every inch a man and poet, and his love for our South land beamed forth in every look and trembled in ever word he uttered.

        They had been fighting at Fort Donelson for days, and we would hear very distressing accounts from them: our boys in water knee-deep, and such

terrific fighting it was fearful to contemplate, and such overwhelming numbers to contend with. But almost every day we would hear of deeds of valor and bravery, and we felt that our noble boys could not be whipped. They were outnumbered and had to succumb, and only those know, who went through these exciting times, what the news of the fall of Fort Donelson meant.

        The next report was that the army was falling back and would make a stand at Nashville. Some said they would fight in Edgefield; others, that they would fall back and fight on the other side of the river. By the next morning the streets were filled with soldiers, wagons, army stores, and artillery wagons being prepared to send South, and the excitement was at fever heat, and pandemonium seemed to reign.

        The next news was from an old friend, Mrs. Stubbs, who said Gen. Albert Sidney Johnston was at her home; had come there to rest, and everything was being done for his comfort. I prepared a waiter of delicacies, and was soon on my way to her house. When I arrived, she insisted on my seeing him, but I said I wouldn't think of intruding. She took the waiter to him, and in a little while came back with a message from the general that he would like to see me. She took

my arm, and almost before I knew it I was in Gen. Johnston's presence. He expressed great regret at having to fall back. I told him I hoped he would not think it presumption, but I was anxious to know if he intended making a stand at Nashville."My husband intends to take us South if the army does fall back; but if it is not proper to answer, don't hesitate to decline. I am anxious to know, for we will have to make some few prepara before leaving home." He said: "You had better get ready and start in the morning." I looked at that noble face and massive head, and saw sorrow and care depicted there, and I have never forgotten him. That careworn face is fresh in my memory. I have met Mrs. Stubbs many times since the war, and she loved to dwell on the time Gen. Johnston was at her house, and she, as many others would have done, considered it a great honor to entertain so brave a man. I went home, and soon after saw Drs. McTyeire and Summers, knowing they were as anxious as we to get away with their families. But by night the rumor was all over town that the army would make a stand, and every one who could shoulder a musket must help to defend Nashville to the last ditch. My husband thought it best for us to go, and he would stay and fight if necessary. So we started to

Fayetteville. Before leaving, I called up my two faithful servants, husband and wife, Henry and Martha Brown by name, told them to take the keys, use wood, coal, and contents of the larder, and take good care of the house and everything in it; and faithfully they performed their part. They buried my China, packed at night my carpets to my mother in Nashville, carried my furniture, piece at a time, to the houses of different friends, and stayed as long as they were allowed. The Federals wanted to make a hospital of the house, when our friends, Mr. Dick White and family, moved in and kept it for us till the close of the war. Martha and Henry went to Washington with President Johnson's family, Martha as maid in the "White House," and Henry as a trusted servant; but he died a few months after going there. I mention all this to show the fidelity of the old servants. They had been with us many years, and "Mammy Martha" was dearly beloved by us all. I packed my trunk, took my nurse Ella, and children, and my little son, ten years old, to drive the barouche, and we started to old friends in Fayetteville, leaving Mr. Morgan there to await coming developments. We traveled with sad hearts, thinking of the dear ones left behind who could not follow us.

        Events soon showed that instead of making a

stand the army was retreating, and the roads were filled with every kind of vehicle of which the imagination could conceive. Artillery wagons, ambulances, furniture wagons, carts, and every kind of conveyance to which a horse could be hitched. They were driving, lashing, yelling, and galloping, and my little children and myself in the midst of them. We got to Murfreesboro after dark, but found that the army had beaten us there and all the hotels were filled. There we were in the crowded street, not knowing where to go or what to do, when I heard my old hackman's voice, Frank Eakin, for he had waited on me in that capacity for many years whenever a hack was needed. Never did a voice sound so sweet! for I was much fatigued, and more worried in mind than body. He ran up and said: "Is that you, Miss Julia?" And I said: "Yes; what is left of me." He said: "I will take you out to Miss Julia Eakin's [Miss Julia Spence, now], and Miss Myra Eakin is there - just come all the way from New York - got there this evening." So I gladly followed Uncle Frank until we got to Mrs. David Spence's house, and there received a hearty welcome, and we all sat up till late that night, bemoaning the fortunes of war. Early in the morning old Frank had everything in readiness, trunks securely

strapped, harness adjusted, etc., and many directions to my son how to drive to prevent an accident. Then, after Mrs. Spence had prepared us a sumptuous lunch, we bade them good-bye, thanking God for having such kind friends raised up to us in our hour of need.

CHAPTER III.

        When we arrived at Fayetteville, we found a

large portion of Johnston's army there, and they continued to come for several days. We met at the doctor's house Gen. John C. Breckinridge, an old friend of the family; Gen. Forrest; Dr. Kelley (or rather Col. David Kelley), then on Gen. Forrest's staff; and Gen. Bowen and wife, of Gen. Price's army of Missouri. We heard the fight at Fort Donelson discussed from every point, and I came to the conclusion that our soldiers had done enough to stop and not fire another gun. I heard Gen. Forrest tell of the execution of our sharpshooters, and after the battle he said he counted sixty killed in one place, and called on Col. Kelley to know if that was the number. He said their execution was wonderful and fearful to contemplate, the number killed was so great. Gen. Bowen was a splendid specimen of manhood, and his wife was charming. They spent a week at the doctor's, and we had a pleasant time going to see the soldiers drill. Soon the army left for Corinth and Shiloh. I learned that Gen. Bowen was killed at Shiloh, and his wife returned to Missouri.

        Before Mr. Morgan left he gave me a box of gold containing $12,000, and told me to take good care of it: we might need it. I told Mrs. McKinney, and we discussed the danger of keeping it in the house, for we felt very anxious about it, as there

were servants going in and out all the time. We thought and planned as to the safest disposition that could be made of it. There was a large rosebush directly under the window of her bedroom; so we decided to dig up the rose, divide it, and send a piece of it to a neighbor who was anxious to have some of it, and while the servant went to deliver the rose to our friend we slipped the box in the hole and planted back what was left of the rose, gave it a good pounding and profuse watering, and it scarcely wilted, it was so well managed.

        We remained in Fayetteville six weeks, then Mr. Morgan came and took us to Lookout Mountain to Mr. Aldehoff's Seminary, where we boarded and sent the children to school. Several Nashville girls were here at the seminary. We had a delightful time roaming over the mountains, for the scenery was magnificent; and every afternoon I would take my children and a troop of boys and girls - for both sexes attended the school - and we would walk for miles, feasting our eyes on the beautiful mountain azaleas, holly, and laurel, and many lovely wild flowers which were rare to us, and we would all go back with our hands and aprons full of the sweet blooms. The air was so cool and bracing it seemed we would never tire of these excursions. I was so

charmed with the beautiful flowers and shrubs, and so confident we would whip the Yankees and get home by fall or spring at the least, and acting on the presumption, I got some of the mountain women to go with me to select plants to take back to Nashville. I walked, looked, and admired, and tied a piece of white string on one, red and black on others, so I would know them when I got ready to take them up. I planned that I would take up enough native soil to insure success when I removed them, and I was so delighted with the idea of procuring so many novelties I would walk for miles hunting them. But alas! the time never came for them to be transplanted, for after that too much of stern reality occurred to fill the heart and mind, and made me forget the beautiful wild flowers. In our strolls we would often come in contact with the residents, and would have long chats with them. They seemed well satisfied with their surroundings. Most of them had been reared there, knew but little of the outside world, and were contented and happy. I asked them how they lived, as most of the men were in the army; and they told me they dug calamus, ginseng, and angelica, and gathered huckleberries, blackberries, and dewberries, raised chickens and hogs, and they got on finely. They were kind-hearted,

polite, and credulous to a degree that astonished me, and seemed ready to believe all the marvelous tales that could be conceived of. I felt so sorry for them, seeing how ignorant they were; and then I thought they were happier than we were, with no aspirations in life, and thankful for what they had.

        One day the children came in and told me that Gen. John H. Morgan's command had just come and were encamped just down the hill; and in a day or two Gens. John H. Morgan and Basil Duke, hearing we were there, came up to see us. Mr. Aldehoff and wife treated them so kindly that they were delighted with their visit. Mrs. Aldehoff was a descendant of Gov. Sevier, and a splendid woman, and her husband a most enthusiastic Southerner.

        The boys soon heard we were related to Gen. Morgan, and they came in numbers to see us; and as I had learned most of the patriotic war songs, I would play, and the children and soldier boys would gather around and would make the welkin ring with "Dixie," "Bonny Blue Flag," "Maryland," "She Comes, She Comes." She did not come, but, to judge from the singing, we were very happy in the anticipation. Among the boys was one named Hughes Hopkins, a son of a Presbyterian minister, and the brightest, jolliest fellow I ever met. He

formed quite an attachment for the children, and would come up nearly every day to see us. He was highly educated, could quote poetry by the hour, and he was so entertaining we all loved to hear him. One day he was telling us some of his trials on the Potomac, and he said that they were very hungry and had their skillets frying bacon, and were waiting for it to get done when the Federals opened fire on them, and a head of a soldier was blown in their skillet and spoiled all their sop. I told him it was horrible in him to speak so lightly of death. He laughed and said that it was the evil of war, and a fellow gets hardened and used to anything.

        The time came for them to move, and he came to say good-bye. He had a splendid form, straight as an arrow, had a pleasant though homely face, and on one cheek was a long scar. He extended his hand, and said: "Good-bye, madam. You have been kind to me, and I thank you, and if I never meet you again, for I may be killed [I felt like crying, his voice was so pathetic], have me decently buried, and please, ma'am, furnish money to have masses said for my soul. I think I will make a pretty corpse." I asked what his good father would say to hear him talk so, and he gave a hearty laugh, raised his hat, and bounded down

the hill like a deer. That was the last I ever saw of him. I do not know whether the poor fellow was killed or not.

        I was kept very busy with my children, for my faithful nurse I brought with me was taken sick. She was the only daughter of Peggy Lapsley, of Nashville. Her mother came to me the morning I left home, and asked me to take her South, as I could do a better part by her than she could. She relieved me of a great deal of care with my children, day and night. Ella was a bright mulatto, very handsome and intelligent, and I felt in my exile she was more than a servant to me. She almost felt like one of my family, for they were devoted to her, she was so tender and gentle to the little ones. She grew worse day by day, and the physician from Chattanooga pronounced her very ill, and he feared I would have to lose her. She became so nervous that the noise of the children worried her, and I thought it best to have her moved to the house of a poor white family who lived near the seminary, and for a sum of money the mother and daughter promised to devote all their time to her, wait on her faithfully, and sit up with her. I prepared all her meals, had them sent to her, and went every day and stayed with her as much as possible, and would go after supper

to see if she had every attention. The school children and mountain woman, seeing our distress, became greatly interested in her, and often after school the children would gather flowers and take them to her. And she was always so grateful. She lived six weeks, and as she was growing weaker she said: "Miss Julia, I want to ask a favor of you. I know I am going to die, and I feel perfectly resigned, but I hate to leave you and the children." I asked what favor it was she wished, for I would do anything for her. She said: "Please take all my little trinkets to my mother - breastpin, locket, and some of my hair - and tell her to meet me in heaven." I promised to do all she asked, and wanted to know if that was all. She said: "No, there is one thing more. Miss Julia, I hate to ask you, but I want you to shroud me. I don't want strangers to do it." I told her I would do anything for her, as she had been faithful and true to me and mine, and that I would stay by her till the end. She died two days later, and I got a nice coffin and shroud and laid her out tenderly, and as she was lowered in the grave I felt that one of my best friends had left me. We had her buried on the mountain, and the school children came in a procession and covered her grave with flowers. We had a fence built

around her grave, and as long as we stayed there her grave was bright with fresh flowers. When I got back to Nashville, I sent for her mother to deliver Ella's treasures to her, but learned that she too had passed to her eternal home, dying near the same time her child did. I go through all this detail to show the devotion of Southerners to their slaves.

        The children were anxious to see the sun rise on the mountain, for we had heard what a magnificent sight it was, so we got up quite a party and started early, and we were repaid, for a more glorious sight was never beheld. We were so high above the surrounding country that we appeared, in the dreamy, misty morning, as if we were in fairyland, with the floating, feathery clouds around us. After the sun threw his light in all directions the fleecy clouds began to dispel and the grand old Tennessee appeared like a silver band winding its course placidly along, and cars looked like tiny carriages. As I looked on this grand river I felt like shouting and praising God and saying, "Thou, O Lord, art worthy to receive glory and honor," for such magnificence in scenery I never beheld. We had been on the mountain six months, and had spent the time very pleasantly. We had made many friends among the

boys and girls, who were from the best families of East Tennessee and different sections of the country. But the time came for us to leave, as the Federals were thundering their artillery all around Chattanooga, and the reverberations on the mountains were terrific.

CHAPTER IV.

They and other friends wrote to Richmond to his brother-in-law, Judge William P. Chilton, Member of Congress, and Meredith P. Gentry, to state the case; and the next mail brought back a commission as quartermaster of a division, with headquarters at Atlanta. I was delighted, and sent it to him; but it was returned posthaste to Richmond, he declining to accept it.

        I was at a crowded hotel, but I got Mr. White, the proprietor, to give me a private table in the dining room for my family and a few friends, among them Mary Gentry, daughter of Meredith P. Gentry, Mr. Fred Shepherd, of Nashville, and Mr. Sandy Shepherd, from Memphis. The latter gentleman was there looking after the interest of his bank. We sent to Charleston and bought a sack of Java, and I got my nurse, Nancy, to make us good coffee on my stove in my room. We fared better than most of them at the hotel tables, for they had parched wheat and rye for coffee; and old friends coming and going soon learned where to get a cup of pure coffee, and Nancy was often kept busy to supply the demand. Judge Caruthers, Judge Marchbanks, Gov. Neil S. Brown, my old teacher, Dr. C. D. Elliot, and many others got their cup as long as it lasted. Dr. Elliot would say: "Julia, my child, I am going up to the front

to look after the boys, and must have my coffee to take with me; my supply is out." His knapsack was always filled for him, and he would go off with a glad heart to try and comfort the soldier boys. He was as much devoted to them as he was to his old Nashville Academy pupils, and that was saying a great deal, for he had been a faithful teacher and friend to hundreds of girls scattered all over the South.

        Nancy was my courier, always on the alert to get startling news. After the battle of Murfreesboro she came up early one morning and told me the house was filled with wounded soldiers. Their destiny was Atlanta, as they had hospitals there and none at Marietta at that time. The poor fellows had heard that a great many Nashville refugees were there, and as the train stopped they slipped off in the dark and came to the hotel and sent word to us that they wanted to see the Nashville ladies; but just at the time most of them had left. I got up though, and as soon as I dressed I went down to see them. I went from room to room, and found twenty- seven poor fellows - some terribly wounded - shot in the legs and arms, and one had his eye put out. Different parts of the brave boys' bodies felt the effects of the Yankee bullets. I went in one room, and found Dr. Lowe, from

Shelby County, shot through the eye, the ball coming out of the back of his neck, and it was strange that it did not kill him. His hair was very long, all bloody, and dried to his face, and all caked with blood around his eye, or the socket, as the eye was gone. I felt sick at heart, but went to work with my nurse to assist me. I had warm water brought, and with a soft cloth bathed the bloody hair until I could remove it from the wounded part, got a pair of scissors, and soon made the poor fellow more comfortable by cutting off his long, matted hair, and a more grateful man I never saw. He was in a fearful condition, but as I looked at the poor, sightless eye and pleased face I felt repaid for my efforts; and he told me he felt more comfortable and so thankful to me. I did not take time to hunt help, but went from room to room. The wounded men were all dirty, hungry, and bloody. My heart would give a big bound as I looked eagerly into each face, thinking maybe some of our Nashville boys were among them. I found Capt. Jackson, from the Hermitage, Capt. Lynn and Mr. Herran, from near Memphis, and others, whose names, after the lapse of so many years, I have forgotten, but all in the same condition: dirty, bloody, and hungry. As fare was high at the hotel, and most of the poor fellows were without

money, I sent Nancy out, bought light bread, butter, and eggs, and had strong coffee made in my room, and we went to work cooking, and in a little while had enough prepared for them to eat to satiety. The next thing to be done was to get them some clothes. I started and hunted up all the Nashville ladies at the other hotel, and those boarding in town, and also called on the ladies of Marietta to help us. I had a hundred yards of pressed flannel my husband had bought to use in case of an emergency, as goods were getting very scarce; but when such scenes of distress were brought to me, my first impulse was to help relieve, so I got the ladies together and we cut out and made up as long as the cloth held out, and what I lacked others furnished. Hurrying and sewing for several days, we got all supplied with flannel shirts, drawers, and undershirts, and as "cleanliness is next to godliness," they felt nearer heaven in clean beds, and new underclothes, and good women around them ministering to their wants, than they had in some time before. In the meantime we sent for Drs. Steward and Setz, and they did all they could for their comfort. Mr. White, the proprietor, came to me and said: "I am a poor man and am not able to feed them, but will let them stay until places can be provided for

them." I told him I would see to their being fed, and I did; and had them well fed, too. I put on my bonnet and started out to hunt homes in private families for them, and I had good success. Mrs. Gen. Hansel took four; Mrs. Col. Atkinson, four; Mrs. Brumby, three; Mrs. Dennead, three; and so on until all had comfortable homes provided, and I felt happy to know that they would be so well cared for. Most of the ladies sent their carriages for them, and they went with thankful hearts. As they were the first wounded soldiers who had stopped in Marietta, they all fared sumptuously, and Dr. Setz and dear old Dr. Steward visited them regularly and did all in their power to alleviate their sufferings. Some of the boys were extremely ill from their wounds, as erysipelas set in. I got a home for two country boys who were badly wounded, with an old lady and gentleman who had no children. Two days after, the old lady sent for me to come to see her on important business. I hurried down, called for her, and she said: "You must move those boys from my house, I can't stand them." I asked what on the earth was the matter. She told me her place and all she had was about to walk off with, as the soldiers called them, "graybacks." The neat housekeep was in despair. Allusion to these pests is not very

delicate, but they were common in the army, where so many were crowded together they could not help getting them on their clothing. It made no difference how neat and cleanly they were, they were all in the same category, liable to the "pests." I said: "Please don't move them; one has high fever now and is delirious, and the other is too sick to be disturbed." I got some one to help her clean her house; then sent for a negro barber and told him I would pay him well if he would help me. He asked me what I wanted done, and told him to get a large kettle, heat water, then get a big tub, soap, and towel. He got every thing in readiness and attempted to take one of the soldier's clothes off, and I was waiting to hear the result. The negro came out puffing and blowing, and said: "I can't do anything with him. He fit me and scratched, and tried to bite me." I told him that was a small matter, not to give up, but to go and hire a strong man to help him, for I told him it must be done. He went off for assistance, and in a little while was back with help. After waiting quite a time, and hearing a big fuss in the room, he came out and said: "Missus, I done soap him and scrub him good, and now he is done dress up nice." I thanked him and told him to go through the same process with the other one. He did so, and had

no trouble with him. He came and told me he had finished them both, and I then directed him to cut their hair. This was accomplished, and he sent for me to come in and see how well he had done his work. Strange to say, the delirium was relieved, fever cooled, and they began to improve from that bath. The next thing was to look after their clothing. They each had a suit of Confederate gray, and as clothes were so scarce and hard to get, I could not think of throwing them away. I had them all taken out in the yard and told the barber to go right off and get an old darky to come and wash them. He soon brought an old woman, and, for a stipulated price, she undertook the job. She looked at the clothes, and said: "Missus, dem's powerful 'ceitful t'ings, dey hides in ebery seam and crack. You has to bile dem all day and all night, and den dey ain't dead." I told her to "bile 'em all day and all night," just so she got them clean. "But, missus, dat ain't all; you has to get the hottest flatiron, and iron in all de seams." I told her I would leave it with her, just so she got them all right, and she worked over them faithfully until they were clean and nice, and hung up for future use.

        I went down the next day, and the boys looked like new men, and the old lady was bright and

cheerful, and I felt happy at my success. Some of the women of the present day may think it would have been more suitable for men to attend to these things. But where were our men? Most of them were tramping through mud and dirt, rain and cold fighting battles, many lying on the cold ground wounded, and others passed to "that bourn whence no traveler returns." No, when duty led the Southern women, we did not stop to consider if the thing necessary to be done was elegant or delicate, but could we do ought to alleviate suffering, and cool a parching brow, or make a bed softer to the maimed and shattered limbs of our dear ones. Many of them had loving kindred thinking and praying for darling husbands, brothers, and sons. I thought I had my country charges all settled and happy, but in a few days I was sent for to come as quickly as I could: they wanted to see me. I went down and was received at the door by the old lady. She was very kind, and told me her boys were doing finely, but were somewhat nervous. I walked in and asked if they wished to see me about anything important. They said "Yes," in a low, confidential way, and continued, "I believe the old lady wants to kill us, as she has a loom in the next room, right against the partition at the head of our bed, and she has been

weaving for two days, and late last night, and says she has a good deal more to do before she finishes her cloth." I told them I would make it all right; I knew the old lady was good and kind, and I knew too she didn't mean to annoy them. They said: "Yes, she is good to us; gives us plenty that is nice to eat, and talks kindly to us, but that rattle, rattle, rattle [said in a wail] will kill us; we can't stand it." I had a talk with the old lady, and she promised to postpone the weaving, and seemed sorry that she had annoyed them. They stayed with her until they were well enough to join their regiments. Two days before they left the servant came in and announced two soldiers in the parlor; said they wanted to see me, and I immediately went in. They looked neat, fresh, and cheerful in their suits of gray that the old regress had "biled all day and all night," and to my astonishment, each one had a fiddle under his arm. They said they were going away and thought they would play some for the children and myself; said they were considered "powerful good players" at home. I thanked them for their thoughtfulness, called the children in, then they tuned and tuned, and finally started off on some jigs, and they played all the country breakdowns you ever heard. The more and louder they played, the

more numerous became their audience. The children and servants in the hotel came in numbers, until they had a crowd of attentive listeners. As the excitement increased, the louder they played, until they seemed in perfect ecstacy. After they had played all they knew, we all thanked them, bade them good-bye, and it was the last I ever saw or heard of them. On shaking their hands in farewell I felt touched, for the poor fellows had paid what they conceived to be the greatest compliment in life: given me the benefit of what they imagined fine music.

CHAPTER V.

        Mrs. Gen. Hansel had Dr. Lowe and Mr. Herron from Shelby County, Tenn. I mention these three particularly, for they all had erysipelas, raging fevers, and this in connection with their bad wounds gave us much anxiety for their recovery; but the beautiful surroundings of Mrs. Hansel's home, and kind treatment, soon had them on the road to health.

        Capt. Lynn, of Tennessee, was badly wounded

He came hobbling in one morning on crutches, and told me his leg was in a terrible condition, and he feared amputation would be necessary. He said he hated to ask me, but he would be so thankful if I would take off the bandage and see what I thought of it. The doctors then were scarce and in great demand all the time. He was wounded just below the knee on the underside of the leg. I got my servant to get me some hot water, Castile soap, and some old linen rags, removed the bandage, and found the place in a frightful condition. His leg was swollen large enough for two, and the cloths had dried and hardened on it until I wondered how he endured it at all. I washed it carefully, saturating the soft linen with some soothing solution the doctor had given him. After the bandage was readjusted he felt much relieved, and I told him to come to me every day and I would dress it for him. He was very grateful, and after the close of the war I got a letter of thanks from him saying I saved his leg. I think that a mistake, but I certainly made him feel more comfortable. By the most tender care of the ladies of Marietta, and the best medical skill, they all got well and rejoined their regiments. Marietta, up to that time, had known but little of the horrors of war; so the first wounded soldiers they nursed gave

them a little insight in it. Soon after this hospitals were established there. Then the work commenced in earnest. We had at this time quite a colony of Nashvillians: Dr. A. L. P. Green, wife and daughter, Mr. Matt McClung and wife, Miss Patty Anderson, Mr. Ike Lytton and family, Mr. Jess Thomas and family, Mr. Tom Marshall and wife, Mrs. Avent, Miss Bettie Childress and her sister, Miss Ann Patterson, Miss Frank Anderson, Gen. Clemmons, Hon. George W. Jones, Mr. Sandy Shepherd, Mr. Fred Shepherd, and many others too numerous to mention, and all great workers. Some one or other of them were always finding objects of distress, and their necessities were always supplied.

        Col. John. Overton was there and was as bighearted then as he is now, running up to the army and then back again, speaking words of comfort to the boys at the front and the poor wounded ones in the rear. But enough. I could fill a volume with acts of heroism and devotion to our Confederacy. To sum it all up, we had our hearts and hands full. At this time most of the Nashville ladies were at the two hotels. At the Kennesaw House, where we boarded, the saintly Mrs. A. L. P. Green would appoint one day in each week for fasting and prayer for our beloved cause, and we

would try to say "thy will be done," but am afraid we had a mental reservation, "but let us whip the Yankees." Now the sick and wounded came in numbers, and we were all kept busy trying to minister to their necessities and to the alleviation of their pains. In a short time the town became so crowded many of the Nashville people moved to other points. That left us almost alone at the hotel. Mr. and Mrs. White, the proprietors, were very kind to us, and helped in many ways in caring for the sick and wounded soldiers. The house was full of strangers, coming and going all the time. A family stopped there for awhile that interested me very much. It consisted of Gov. Baylor, of Arizona; Col. Baylor, his brother, our former Minister to Austria; and the Governor's and colonel's brother and sister, Eugene and Fanny Courtney Baylor. Gov. and Col. Baylor were delightful company, and Fanny and Eugene splendid musicians, and every night Mary Gentry and myself got them to play for us. Fanny sung the Scotch songs with much pathos, and some of Eugene's compositions were wonderful. He was only twenty years old, but was wonderfully gifted in music. My girls got him to teach them many pieces of his own composition. I did not think then that these friends we were making would

in after years make a name for themselves, for they were so modest and unassuming; but Eugene has lived to be a great composer of music, and Fanny an authoress of considerable note.

        On two occasions trains of soldiers came down the road, and we learned that on account of some accidents they had nothing to eat in twenty-four hours. We were all greatly excited, and I went around from one boarder to another and got their consent to give up their breakfast and let the soldiers have it. I told Mr. White, the landlord, our decision, and he agreed to it. I dispatched my nurse to make coffee, and in a little while big and little, white and black were carrying dishes out to the train to feed the soldiers. We took everything in the eating line we could lay our hands on, and as fast as one pot of coffee was emptied I would send for another. It was a long train, and it took a good deal to satisfy the famished occupants. Soon the news got out in town, and a rumor to the effect that there was a trainful of starving soldiers was circulated, and here they came, women and children running, with their faces red from excitement - some with provisions, others directing servants with large waiters, baskets, bundles, and any way it could be brought in a hurry. The soldiers ate like they were starved; and when the

whistle blew, such scrambling and grabbing as there was to take what was left with them.

        All were bountifully fed and were happy, and with many thanks and loud cheers they were gone; but still tired and almost breathless women continued to come with their donations, and were much disappointed when they found the train had moved off. This was a memorable day in Marietta, but we felt well repaid in going without our breakfast to see the enjoyment depicted in the faces of our soldier boys. In a short time gamblers and rough characters began to come in such numbers that it made it disagreeable for us, but Mr. Morgan was in the army and I thought I would try to stand it, as I was anxious to keep as near the front as possible. Almost every day there were disturbances among these characters, and it made me very watchful. One night I sent my little son to see if supper was ready. The dining room was next to the office, and as he was a favorite in the house, some one called him in the office to speak to him; and this time it happened to be the marshal from Atlanta, and he took him in his lap and was talking to him when a gambler, who supposed he had come up to arrest him, fired on the marshal, killing him, the ball going just above my son's head, and as the marshal fell Bob rolled over on

the floor. You can imagine my feeling when some one came up and told me. I was almost frantic, and ran downstairs, but met one of my friends leading Bob to my room. He was as white as a sheet and frightened almost to death. Mr. Fred Shepherd begged me to let him take the children and myself and go to the other hotel, but I told him I would go in my room, lock the door, and not let any one in. I thanked God for preserving my child's life, for it was a narrow escape. I got my nurse and children in my room and locked the door and awaited results with fear and trembling, for we heard that a mob was after the gambler and intended to hang him. And such an uproar in the streets and hotel was fearful. I waited an hour listening to every sound, almost afraid to breathe. In a short time I heard screams and the sound came nearer and nearer, and some one commenced shaking my door as if they would break it down. I said: "Who is there?" Mrs. White, the proprietor's wife, said: "It is I. For God's sake come down, Mrs. Morgan. They have cut Mr. White all to pieces, and I can't get any one to come and help me." The children were attached to Mr. White, who was kind to them and would often assist them in their lessons, as he was a fine mathematician. So I asked them if they would be afraid

for me to leave them, and they all said no - to go and help Mr. White and they would stay with Nancy, the nurse, who promised me faithfully not to open the door at all. So I started, but in the meantime Mrs. White had gone back to her husband, and with a prayer for help and protection I ran down the hall and one pair of steps, then another hall until I got to her door, and I said, "Open quickly;" for I was so badly frightened I could hardly stand on my feet. We were soon in the room and the door again locked. The doctor had been sent for, but could not be found, and I told Mrs. White that something must be done or he would bleed to death. We sent the servant to the drug store, got sticking plaster, and washed off the blood to see where he was cut and found five wounds, and as she would wipe off the blood I would draw the wounds together with sticking plaster. In the morning the doctor came, examined him, and found the wounds were not dangerous, and said we had done what was necessary. He got well in a few weeks, but his face was badly scarred, and as long as we stayed at the hotel they did all they could for our comfort, for they felt grateful for my help in their hour of need.

CHAPTER VI.

voice, "Cousin, I got my shoes for my boys;" and waving a farewell, he was soon lost to view. It was the last time I ever saw him. By this time there were more fights, and the wounded came down in numbers. I went to the hospitals almost every day, always fearing I would find some of our Nashville boys among the wounded. The ladies of Marietta, and we "refugees," as we were called, did all in our power for the poor boys. I went to the hospital one day to take some delicacies, and as I passed in I was attracted by what I thought the handsomest face I had ever seen. I stopped and spoke to its owner. He looked fresh and ruddy and so young. He had beautiful, laughing brown eyes, and to look at him one would think he was in perfect health. He tried to be cheerful and bright, and seemed anxious to talk. I asked him where he was wounded, and he answered: "Shot through the knee, and the doctor says he fears he will have to amputate my leg; and," he continued, "if they do cut it off, it will almost kill mother and father." I asked him where they lived, and he said in Mississippi. He told me in the conversation that he was an only child; was just twenty-three, and before he enlisted he had entered on the practice of law, after having received an education at Harvard or Yale - I have forgotten which - and said his

name was Lieut. Nelson. I learned enough to know he was a mother's darling. I stayed with him sometime and felt loath to leave him, but told him I would come again soon. He said: "Please come: I feel so lonely and wretched." I felt anxious about him and went back early in the morning: and saw from his face that he had suffered greatly in the night. He told me they had decided to amputate his leg at 12 o'clock that day. I could hardly keep the tears back to see the look of despair on his face when he told me he was afraid he would die, and seemed always to be thinking of the agony it would give his beloved parents, and said: "What will they do without me!" He seemed deeply affected, and I tried to speak words of comfort to him, but I felt faint at heart. I went home, and waited until 4 o'clock, that beautiful face haunting me every moment. I put on my bonnet and hurried to see him, and found the operation had been performed. And O, such a change! He looked haggard and pale, his pulse beating rapidly and breathing with difficulty. He knew me, pressed my hand and held it for some time. I tried in every way to make him feel that he was not alone; that a sympathetic friend was by his side, and he seemed much gratified. I told him to look to God for help; that he alone could save. He

listened eagerly, and when I had finished said: "Amen." And in a few minutes he lost consciousness, and I saw he was sinking rapidly. I thought of that poor father and mother so far away, who would never look on the face of their beautiful soldier boy again, and my heart went out in loving sympathy to her as only a mother's heart can. I stayed as long as I could with him, and went weeping home. He died at 8 o'clock that night, and the next day he was gently lowered in a soldier's grave, where he will rest until the trumpet shall shall sound at that great and final day. After that many sad scenes were witnessed among the sick and wounded. I read every day in the Chattanooga Rebel the list of killed and wounded, and trembled as I did so, fearing some one dear to us would be among them.

CHAPTER VII.

succeeded in their plans, and by threats and intimidations made the pilot and engineer take them near Norfolk and land them.

        They made their way to the swamps and stayed there two or three days, living on anything they could beg or find to eat. The Federals heard of their escape, and shelled the woods in every direction. After staying together for several days, they thought it best to separate and try to make their way back to the army. So they started, each one looking out for himself. Felix traveled at night until he thought it safe to appear in daylight. He made his way to Richmond, and when he got to Mr. Valentine's he was ragged, dirty, foot-sore, and nearly exhausted. The girls took him in hand and soon had him provided with new clothes and kept him until he was able to travel. He then started to Marietta to see us and stay a little while before rejoining his command. We felt proud of our beardless boy, and enjoyed every minute of his stay with us. The young people all had merry times together. Felix had a fine voice, and he regaled us with many beautiful songs, some he learned in prison. But the sad time came when he had to leave us and return to his regiment, which was then in Mississippi. The next day Col. Randle McGavock came to say

good-bye. He looked so bright and hopeful and every inch a soldier. He too went to Mississippi. Several weeks after this I received a letter from Felix, saying: "After a few more fights Gen. Forrest says that he will give me a furlough of ten days, and I will come to see you all. I can hardly wait, but must exercise patience." We looked anxiously forward to the time when we would see him again. It seemed almost like one of my children coming, and in our exile we felt that these bonds of affection were strengthened. But instead of the visit I received a letter from Capt. Matt Pilcher saying: "Felix was killed today, gallantly fighting for his country. A braver boy I never saw. How my heart goes out to his father and mother, for he was their idol! We are paying dearly for our liberty in giving up so many noble boys."

CHAPTER VIII.

        News came that preparations were being made to fight at Chickamauga. I knew most of the Calvary would be there. Gen. John T. Morgan's command and Wheeler's Division had already gone up. My husband was with the cavalry in his brother's command, and I felt miserable. The battle was fought, and such slaughter and carnage was fearful to relate. Both sides suffered terribly. I scarcely ate or slept, and the suspense was maddening. The intelligence came that Capt. Jackson was killed. We felt this loss deeply, for we were greatly attached to him. He had won our hearts by his gentlemanly bearing, and he was so handsome and brave. His brother, Col. Jackson, was at Marietta on parole, having been captured at Vicksburg when that place surrendered. He

and many others were waiting to be exchanged, and were in camp near Marietta. Col. Atkinson and himself went up to get the captain's remains to bury in Marietta. After hunting over the field, they found the poor fellow lying on a blanket with straw under his head; badly wounded, but still alive. They took him to Ringgold; but he was exhausted from loss of blood, and they had no time to attend to his wounds. He never rallied, but died in a few hours after getting him there. They brought his body to Marietta and buried him. Since the close of the war his remains have been removed to Nashville, and now rest at the "Hermitage," near Gen. Andrew Jackson's tomb. The next day my nurse came up and said a wounded soldier was in the parlor on a cot, and wanted to see me. I wondered who it was, and hurried down, and found Gen. Gregg, of Texas, in a bad condition. He had his face and head bandaged, and seemed in great pain, but he told me he wanted to see me to tell me about Capt. St. Clair Morgan's death. He said: "He was my devoted friend. I loved him and he was brave to recklessness. He was a friend of my boyhood days, and in the war we were much together. In one of our engagements, on making a terrific charge, Capt. St. Clair was galloping on ahead of me, cheering as he went. And as we came

back from the charge I saw a form I thought I knew. Hurriedly jumping down, I raised up the head and saw it was my dear friend. A bullet had entered his forehead and gone through his brain. He died with his face to the foe. He was as brave and daring as any man I ever saw, and had a heart as tender as any woman's." I felt greatly shocked, for it had been but a short time before that when I saw him, so bright and handsome, with his load of shoes on his way to make his boys comfortable. Now he was still in death, waiting to be placed in a soldier's grave in a strange place.

CHAPTER IX.

        They started from the "Hermitage" in a buggy, had their trunk stolen, and after many difficulties got to Cartersville, and there learned that their son had been killed and buried at Marietta. They felt that they must come on and hear all they could about their darling boy. I told them all about his

sojourn with us, and sent word to Col. and Mrs. Atkinson that they had arrived; and in a little while the colonel's carriage was at the door, and they were soon conveyed to Mrs. Atkinson's residence.

        I can never forget Mr. and Mrs. Jackson. She had a sweet, resigned face, and, for an old lady, was beautiful. And he was a dignified, venerable-looking man. They are indelibly impressed on my mind.

        She told me she was born in the North, but was devoted to the South, and the dearest treasure of her heart had died battling for its rights. After spending several days in Marietta, and learning all they could of the death of their boy, they came to bid us good-bye. Ah! how my heart went out in sympathy to those weary old pilgrims whom we would never see again until we meet around our Father's throne. We can teach our children to venerate this noble pair, and to love and admire their brave son, who died defending his country. We were watching and waiting to hear news from other loved ones. We had those who were very dear to us in the cavalry. We heard of them destroying a long train of wagons for the enemy. Then again, they would be miles away, giving them trouble in another direction, and it

seemed they were everywhere, watching to see where they could strike a decisive blow. Exciting events were occurring every hour, rumors of fights and news of friends killed or wounded.

        One morning a paper was handed to me stating that a terrific fight had taken place, near Farmington, Tenn., between four thousand Confederate cavalry and six thousand Federals. Many were killed and wounded, and among the number was Irby Morgan, of Nashville, mortally wounded. I was almost frantic with grief. My anxiety was terrible.

        In a few hours Lieut. Minot, of Gen. John T. Morgan's command, came in a buggy, sent by Mr. Morgan, to tell me to hurry to him. He was on Sand Mountain, and was badly wounded, but alive. The lieutenant told me they had a severe fight, and Capt. Allen, of Mr. Morgan's company, was shot down, and so disabled he could not move. He begged Mr. Morgan not to leave him, and said that he would rather die than be taken prisoner. So Mr. Morgan ran back and was endeavoring to support the captain off the field. Encumbered with his heavy weight, besides his pistol, musket, and cartridge box, his movements were slow. He had gone only a short distance, when he felt a stinging pain in his side, and found the Yankees

had discovered his design, and were firing on him from all sides, and a ball struck him in his right hip. It was a miracle he was not killed. He had just reached some cedar trees when he received the wound, but in his excitement he did not think he was much hurt. When he got under cover, he looked down and found the blood gushing out of the top of his cavalry boot, and said to Capt. Allen: "Old fellow, I feel faint, I will have to lay you down, I can't struggle any farther." He laid him down as best he could, and some one saw him and carried him beyond danger of the enemy.

        Mr. Morgan had tied his horse near where he attempted to save the captain, so after he was wounded he crawled to his horse, and led the faithful steed along until he got to the surgeon's stand. Then he fainted from loss of blood. His brother got his surgeons to take charge of him. They laid him across some logs, examined his wound, and found his hip shattered and the ball lodged near his spine. They probed and probed, but could not get it out. By that time he was in a dead faint, and they thought they could never bring him to life again. But after using restoratives he opened his eyes. After consultation they decided the ball could not be removed without injuring

the spine. His brother put him on a horse and got Mr. Jim Copeland, of Nashville, and Lieuts. Minot and Hyat to ride on each side of him, he being in the center of the column. When he got to Cornersville, an old friend let him have a buggy and harness. They made it secure with ropes and strings, and then got a pillow and put him in the buggy. He could not sit down, so had to kneel on the pillow which was placed in the foot of the conveyance and hold on to the dashboard to steady himself. And when too weary of this position, he would be turned and would rest his head on the seat. The horse became frightened at something and began to rear and plunge and kick. Mr. Morgan, seeing the danger he was in, crawled up on the seat. The horse gave another plunge, and he went over the back of the buggy. Fortunately, he had presence of mind enough to roll over into a ditch, and the cavalry did not trample him to death. His companions found him and took him into a cornfield, made a fire and kept him as comfortable as possible until morning, when they started for the Tennessee River. He had a horror of being taken prisoner, and would endure any pain to go on with the boys.

        They finally got to Sand Mountain, where he met Mr. Jordan, who kept a public house. He

was left there until I was sent for, but had every attention and much kindness shown him. After getting settled and feeling happy that he was out of the way of the Federals, he sent Lieut. Minot for me.

        I had an infant only a few weeks old, but Dr. Steward told me to go: that I would be better off than to remain in the excited state I was in. I sent for his old father, got a trusty nurse; and when Mr. and Mrs. Tom Marshall heard of it, they came from Cartersville and took charge of my children at the hotel. Several of my friends, among them Rev. John Bryson, went with me to Rome. Then I got a wagon, and in all traveled two hundred and fifty miles.

        I found Mr. Morgan terribly wounded, pieces of bone working out, and pieces of his clothing that the ball had carried in worked out too. He also had a raging fever. I watched anxiously day and night for several weeks. One morning he said: "Cheer up. I believe I shall yet pull through, but it was a narrow escape." He gradually grew better; and when I knew all danger was over, it occurred to me that cover for our beds was scarce and hard to get, so I determined to hunt around among the mountain women, and see if I could not buy some homemade worsted counterpanes

and blankets. I got some at twenty-five dollars apiece, and they did good service afterward.

        We stayed at Mr. Jordan's six weeks, and then decided to travel slowly until we reached Marietta. We got a wagon and put a feather bed in it, and made the horses almost walk until we got to Gadsden, and stopped there to rest, for Mr. Morgan was very weak and greatly fatigued with the trip. We spent the night, and in the morning he was much better.

        There was a party of persons going out to see Black Creek Falls, and he insisted that I should go too, as I would never have the opportunity again. So I went, and enjoyed it so much. I was delighted with the view. Black and Clear Creeks unite several miles above the falls, and empty over a precipice of eighty feet. As the sun throws its bright rays on the torrent as it dashes over the falls, it is a grand sight. Under the falls there was a platform erected, and I learned that Wheeler's cavalry had had a dance there a few nights before. From the number of peanut hulls I saw they must have had a jolly time with the country girls. After feasting our eyes on the grand scenery, we went back, and all decided we had been repaid for our trip. The next morning we started for Marietta, and felt almost as if we were

going home, for we had so many kind friends there, and we had many to welcome us back. Gen. Bate hobbled out on his poor shattered leg, and his face beamed with pleasure at seeing his old friends again. We found our children well, and all charmed with our dear, faithful friends, Mr. and Mrs. Marshall, for their unremitting kindness to them during our absence.

CHAPTER X.

Northern prisons, of suffering and privations, half fed and clad, with sickness and often death, suffering from the rigors of a Northern climate. I thought, "With everything North to eat and wear, if our boys suffer so, what can we do with our limited means to render prisoners comfortable?" and I wished them back with their friends. We were more than willing to provide for them, but what did we have, shut in from the whole world, and most of the men in the army? But we gave our prisoners the best we had, and were always more than willing to exchange.

        My servant came up one morning and said: "Gen. Forrest and Mr. George W. Jones wish to see you." I hurried down, and was delighted to meet them; and as Gen. Forrest's wonderful capture was the theme of every fireside, it was doubly interesting to listen to him narrate his wonderful maneuvers, for it would give me something to always remember and repeat with pride. He went into detail, and gave to me an accurate account of the encounter, and I found the report to be pretty correct. I told him what he already knew, how proud we all felt of him, and asked him many questions on the situation of the South. I asked him if he considered this his most brilliant achievement, and he said: "No. The raid I made in

Murfreesboro where I captured so many in town and the courthouse, I consider the brightest feather in my cap." He went on to tell me that in Murfreesboro, in July, 1862, he captured the whole garrison: eighteen hundred men, six hundred head of horses and mules, forty wagons, six ambulances, four pieces of artillery, and twelve hundred stand of small arms. This was done by a force equal in numbers to the Federals captured. "The military stores taken by me in this affair were valued at $1,000,000." When I looked into his calm face and clear gray eye I could hardly realize the pent up force that was smoldering there. But woe to the coward or straggler! They had better meet the enemy than to encounter him. After he left I had quite a levee, for the ladies came in troops to hear what their brave chieftain had to say. You can't imagine in this day how excited and enthusiastic the women became. The news of victory was like an electric spark that set us all on fire.

        Our Nashville friends were now all scattered in every direction, and when we would get letters, which were few and far between, we would send them all around to the rest. We corresponded with a good many of our soldier boys, and we were often enabled to send them news of their

friends. I have many of these letters now, and they are precious relics.

        My husband received a letter from Dr. McTyeire, from Butler Lodge, Ala., where he was with his family. He wrote: "John and myself expect to raise a large lot of cowpeas. Let Bob come down, and I will teach him to plow. We hope we will succeed, for this will be my chief dependence for a living. Little did I think when my father died, and a few old servants cared for the place, that I would ever feel thankful to have it for a retreat for my family. My wife and children are bearing their exile so cheerfully." He told me that he was the only white man left in the neighborhood, as all the others were in the army, and he spent his time preaching and looking after the widows and children, and working on his farm. We received letters from Dr. Summers, Dr. A. L. P. Green, Col. Samuel D. Morgan, Gen. John H. Morgan, and many others. I have them now, and often take them out and read them to my children and grandchildren. But I am digressing.

CHAPTER XI.

to me to try to get a house near us, as he was anxious to get his family together. After many trials we succeeded in getting a house next to us, the Episcopal church intervening. He wrote to Dr. Robert Williams and family, and with his granddaughters, the Misses Cheney, they came to Marietta and went to housekeeping. About that time the contents of the trunk I brought from Nashville were nearly exhausted, and it was almost an impossibility to get goods for clothing. Some ran the blockade and got goods from Memphis and some of the Atlantic ports, but they were the fortunate few that succeeded. The girls needed clothes and had to have them, so I got a bolt of hickory stripe made by our factories. I will describe it for the benefit of the girls of to-day: It was pin-striped, blue and white, made of fine thread, heavier than gingham. I made a dress each for my two girls and two nieces. The style of make was a yoke, full sleeves, sash of the same, and four folds stitched on the bottom of the skirts. Two of the dresses were headed at the top of the fold with red and two with white cord, and when they were done I thought them beautiful.

        The girls decked out in them and felt so independent in their Southern-woven dresses, and proud too that they were Southern girls. These were

among their best dresses, and as they were satisfied and pleased, I was happy to see them contented. The next serious question was where to get food, as our family was very large and the house crowded all the time with friends; so our supplies had to be considerable, and it gave us much cause for worry. There were an old gentleman and lady of Northern birth who had lived there for many years, and had shown us much kindness. They had a nice place near town, and raised quantities of vegetables and had nice fruits, and they were thoughtful and kind, often sending us baskets of fresh vegetables, honey, and fruits. We persuaded them to sell us everything we needed in that line. We always had a cordial welcome to their home, and many nice dinners we have eaten with them. We needed meats and many things the old gentleman couldn't supply, so Mr. Morgan sent for him and got him to consent to go up and down the road to get supplies. He got us flour, two barrels of molasses, cowpeas, hams, meal, and many other necessaries. Besides these articles, he bought beef cattle that were poor, and Mr. Morgan got Joe, my faithful servant boy, to boil bran, cowpeas, and corn together and give them all they could eat, and we soon had a lot of fine beeves to kill. I had a good receipt for corning beef, and I succeeded finely in keeping it, and

we made many a soldier boy's heart glad by dividing with him. We raised chickens, or attempted to do so, and we had a time, as our place was near the depot. We were fortunate enough to get a good cow, had a little garden, and some fig trees were on the place which bore an abundance of luscious fruit. This was a new sight to us, fig trees bearing, but we soon learned to think them great delicacies. We considered ourselves very fortunate in having so many of the necessaries of life, and it made us happy to divide with those who couldn't get these things. Meat was a great item in housekeeping and it was hard to get, as the army consumed so much. In a short while Col. Samuel D. Morgan got a letter from John H. Morgan, saying: "I will soon be married to Miss Mattie Ready, of Murfreesboro, Tenn." We had had no intimation of any such thing, and were greatly surprised to hear it. When Gen. Basil Duke and he came to see us on Lookout Mountain, I thought he was too much absorbed in the war to think of marrying; but he did take unto himself a wife, and came down to Marietta to see us all, his uncle's family and ours. We were delighted to see him again, for he had by his bravery, dash, and brilliant achievements distinguished himself, and we felt he was a deserved hero, and we delighted.

in honoring him. When he came with his pretty young wife, we thought a handsomer couple could not be found. He had a magnificent figure, was remarkably handsome, and was every inch a soldier. He was kind and pleasant to every one he met, and I think had more personal magnetism than any one I ever knew. The citizens toasted and feasted them and made their ten days' stay delightful. We had then a little baby six months old, named Cornelia Hunt, the middle name for him. He loved children, but was especially fond of this little curly-headed one that bore his name, and would always call for her when he came. During their stay in Marietta, they rode frequently on horseback, and many times we would watch them with interest and think how distinguished they looked. He often talked to us about the war, and one night we all gathered around him, the children all excitement, wanting to catch every word, and asked him to tell us of some of his daring deeds. He related many incidents that had occurred since he started out, but after a lapse of thirty years many of them have escaped my memory. But one incident I recall. He said he heard a long train would leave Louisville on a certain day filled with clothes for the soldiers and army stores of all kinds and in large quantities. He

made a dash into Kentucky, and by traveling day and night met the train just beyond Mammoth Cave. His daring soldiers dashed up and stopped the train. He said it was the longest one he ever saw, not only filled with army stores, but a great many ladies going to Nashville, some to join their husbands and others to meet their sweethearts, for the Federals were having a nice time in Nashville. When the train was drawn up, he said he never saw such consternation depicted on faces. One old lady ran up to him and begged him not to kill her; told him to take all she had, but spare her life. He remarked that it made him feel embarrassed to be regarded as a murderer of helpless women and children - a man who had always been proverbial for his gallantry to ladies; but such horrible tales had been told about him that they were prepared to meet a brigand, and they regarded him as a monster in human guise. He said his soldiers and himself ran from car to car and escorted the women and children out, placed them where they would be out of danger, and then went to work to destroy and burn up everything, he taking time to run out and reassure the ladies that they should not be hurt. Some of them begged him piteously for their trunks, but he told them he was sorry that his time was too limited to

show them such courtesies. Some laughed at the ludicrous position they were in, and others rained down imprecations on his head. The soldiers made a complete wreck of everything, and with a military salute and profound bow bade the ladies farewell, jumped on their horses, and were gone. That train was a great loss to the Federals, and as such large stores of clothes and army supplies were burned, it retarded their progress for several days.

        His delightful visit was as drawing to an end, he was much impressed with the kindness shown him by all, and said his visit-would not be soon forgotten. He came to say good-bye to us, and I made him promise to keep us posted as to his movements, and he said he would send us Videttes from every point he made a raid. This little paper was edited by Major Gano, of his command - just a small sheet, inferior paper, and published hastily, but gave the welcome news of his movements. I have some of them now; but they are old, ragged, and worn. The last one we got was from Hartsville, Tenn., telling of his fight and captures there. Not long after that he was captured by the Federals and taken to a Northern prison, and as all are familiar with his capture I will not recount it, but a letter written to his uncle describing his feelings and thoughts while imprisoned thrilled us at the time.

CHAPTER XII.

wounded, that it was often with difficulty that they could be found when needed. They were kind and attentive to Mr. Morgan in his weakened condition. The ball in his side could not be removed, and it gave him continual pain, pressing against his spine. The surgeons told him that after awhile a sack would gradually form around the ball, but not to entertain any hope that it could ever be extracted. He is now an old man, many long years have elapsed since those stirring and sorrowful times, and the ball is often still a reminder of those days of strife and bloodshed.

        I had so many cares now, I could not go to the hospitals as often as I wished, but whenever I could find time I would prepare waiters of delicacies, and the girls would help me take them. They would wait at the doors and I would go through and distribute them to the poor, desolate, homesick boys, and my heart would bound with pleasure to see the grateful look of appreciation on their poor, sunken faces; and they would tell me how good everything tasted after eating so much old light bread and soup. Capt. Jim Barnes and Capt. Ed Douglass, of Nashville, came from East Tennessee with rheumatism, and stayed with me two months, until they got well enough to join their commands.

        The army was still falling back and fighting almost all the time, for they contested every foot of ground from Dalton to Atlanta, though against overwhelming numbers. Such deeds of bravery and valor were never surpassed; but were shared by Wheeler, Cheatham, Dibrell, Morgan, and indeed all, for it would be hard to discriminate, they all fought so bravely.

        I heard that Col. Terry Cahal, one of our Nashville boys, was badly wounded. They were in a fight, and he leaped over the fortifications and wrested the colors from the enemy, and in his effort to get back was shot. I had him brought to my home, where I could watch him. He was telling me of the fight with great exultation, and said that he did not mind being hurt to get their colors. His wound was not as serious as it was at first thought to be. He was considered brave and daring almost to recklessness.

        Marietta, being so near the army' was now crowded all the time, and our house filled to overflowing. It was very elastic, and we could always find room for one more. One night we had as guests Gen. John M. Bright, Gov. Neil S. Brown, Judge Marchbanks, Dr. C. D. Elliott, Rev. John Bryson, Col. Robinson, Col. Terry Cahal, and Dr. John B. McFerrin. We had two mattresses on

most of the beds, so we would take one off of each and spread them around in different rooms, parlor included. Our family was large, so with these guests added it looked like a small hotel. I had to put Dr. McFerrin in the bed with a very fleshy man, and expressed my regrets, but he said: "Don't worry, sister, for this is good sleeping; better than I have been used to, for I have been lying on the ground in camp with the boys." The all- absorbing theme was the removal of Gen. Joe Johnston. Many thought that President Davis had committed the error of his life, for Gen. Johnston had only to command and the soldiers obeyed, never questioning a move, for they had implicit confidence in him. And the soldiers would often say: "What old Joe does is all right. He knows what he is about." With Gen. Hood they had some fears; but their ardor for the cause was so great that they did not stop to cavil, but rushed with impetuosity to accomplish all they were ordered to do. They often said, afterward: "If old Joe had been left in command, Gen. Sherman would never have got to the ocean." President Davis was terribly censured, but his conduct since then for thirty years has refuted all charges and calumny imputed to him at the time. When I think of that grand character, sometimes seeming almost isolated,

censured by the South for what they conceived an error of judgment, and calumniated all over the North, I wonder that that proud spirit of that weak body did not succumb. But he was so deeply imbued with the idea of sovereignty of the States that he died battling for what he conceived to be the bulwark of the South, these rights.

        Well, many changes were taking place on all sides. The school our girls had attended, taught by Mr. Benedict, was given up, and we were greatly worried as to where we would send them. Mr. Jesse Thomas, of Nashville, came to Marietta; and knowing how competent Miss Kate Thomas was as a teacher, we begged her to take a class. She timidly shrank from anything of the kind, but after a good deal of persuasion we got her to consent to open a school. Col. Samuel D. Morgan sent his granddaughters, Mr. Lytton his girls, four went from our home, and from the ladies of Marietta she had many applications. Many a glad mother had reason to thank Miss Kate for the training of her daughters in gentle, ladylike deportment, and classic and text-book knowledge.

CHAPTER XIII.

few days, would slip down to Marietta, and we would spend happy hours together, and many a little entertainment the girls would get up for their pleasure, and such hunting of clothes and decking out was right laughable. My husband's wardrobe was drawn on until he could sometimes scarcely find a change of clothes, white shirts particularly, and handkerchiefs. Pieces of ribbon and anything were used for cravats; but the boys had a merry time, anyway, and old Marietta would resound with their enthusiastic songs: "Bonnie Blue Flag," "Dixie," "My Maryland," and many others I have forgotten. They would often wind up with "Home, Sweet Home," and the tears would gather in their eyes. They would have for refreshments, popcorn, sorghum candy, gooberpeas, and sometimes cake, and all kinds of fruits. How they would enjoy it, after eating hard bread and bacon, and sometimes beans and cowpeas for days! When they would start back, I would fill their canteens with buttermilk and sorghum molasses, give them a piece of corned beef and some beaten biscuit, and they would feel rich and happy.

        Our old friend, Gen. John M. Bright, had a son not quite fourteen years old, who gave him great uneasiness. He was well grown for his age,

looked older than he was; and as his brothers were in the army, he was anxious to go too, but his father thought it best for him to stay in Lincoln County with his family. But news came that John Massey, a splendid young man, and others, of Fayeteville, had been shot by order of a Federal general for bushwhacking. John was of an impetuous disposition, and his father determined to get him out of the lines, for fear he would be killed. He finally succeeded, and sent him to Chapel Hill, N.C., to school, paid his tuition in advance, and in talking to me about him congratulated himself on the good arrangements he had made for him, and that a great trouble had been lifted off him. After a few weeks Johnny appeared at my door, carpetbag in hand, greeted me, and was overjoyed to see us. I in return was delighted to see him, for I loved him very dearly. His mother had been one of my cherished friends for years. I expressed great surprise, and asked him how he got here. He said: "Well, Aunt Julia, I couldn't study, and I worried and worried the teacher until he gave my money back. If he had not done it, I would have run off, for I intend to join the army." He opened his valise and commenced pulling out clothes, and said: "See what I have brought you all." He had a thin summer coat for Mr. Morgan,

and a handsome meerschaum pipe, and something for the children and myself, and he presented them with a beaming face. I told him that I was very sorry he had spent his money. "Your father was here last week and told me that his family were having a hard time at home in the lines, and needed that money." He looked very sorrowful for a few minutes, but in a little while after I heard his merry laugh with the children, and I went in and asked him what he intended to do. He said that in a few days he intended to go up to the army, but I knew that his father would not consent to it for a moment, for he was entirely too young. I consulted Mr. Morgan, and we decided that he should not go, and told him so, and also informed him that he had to start to school, which he reluctantly consented to do. The next morning we entered him, and we had a merry time watching John to keep him from running off. His father was urging him all the time to stay and try to improve his time, and insisted on us controlling him as we would our own boy. I had my seven children, two nieces, and John, making ten young people in all, and my hands and heart were full of anxieties and cares. My husband was still feeble. He hobbled around on crutches, and gave me all the assistance he could in managing the children and household.

        Joe, my faithful servant, worked my garden, and we had a quantity of nice, fresh vegetables, plenty of milk and butter, meat, flour, and so on; but our soap gave out, and we could not buy it. We were in a dilemma - war times, and no soap. A friend of my husband told him that they had at the commissary department a large lot of refuse grease, and said that if we would send for it we could have it. So we did send, and got the grease, and also a quantity of wood ashes from friends. I called Joe up, and asked him if he could make an old fashioned lye hopper. So we went to work, run the lye down, and began on our soap. In a few days we had four barrels of fine lye soap, but my eyes were nearly smoked out. I was proud of my success, and made enough to last me till the close of the war.

        We often wondered that we had nothing stolen, as there were so many coming and going all the time, colored and white. I will mention a fact that astonished every one. The morning I left Nashville I hastily gathered up six or seven dozen knives, forks, and spoons, small and large, with my name on them. I used them constantly in the house and kitchen - for I had no others - never losing a single piece, and when I came back to Nashville I brought them all home safely. It

was remarkable how little stealing-was done, especially in provisions, for so many were on short rations.

        I must say that we should never forget the negroes, for they were faithful and industrious, and seemed to face their responsibilities. Many said to me: "De las' promise I made old master was, I would take good care of missus and de chilluns." And faithfully did they keep their promise. When news would come that an old or young master was killed, they would weep with the family pure tears of affection. I would hear the old mammies tell of the different ones of the children that they had "nussed," and now they were big soldier boys, and had gone to fight for their country, and in letters these boys would write home there were always messages of love for their "dear old mammy." And when the brave boys gave up their lives and were fortunate enough to be sent home, those black mammies were among the first to show the last tender love and respect for their beloved dead. They were always proud of "our white folks," as they called them, and were ever ready to do their bidding and attend to every want. I do not remember a single act of lawlessness on their part during the war. I have a warm place in my heart for the negroes, and can't help but feel

grateful to them for their unremitting fidelity to us during the long struggle.

        The army was now falling back slowly but surely, and we would hear of thrilling deeds of daring on the part of our brave boys led by our faithful and chivalrous Gen. Dibrell: making a dash where the enemy least expected them, killing and capturing many. His command were devoted to him. The boys would (different ones) get leave of absence, and would nearly always come down to spend a few days among Nashville friends. It did our hearts good to see them eat. Many, many times when they would be in a hurry to start back I would make them go out and help the girls churn, so they could take their canteens full of fresh buttermilk; and what a frolic they would make of it!

        Letters often came asking us to send or buy for them articles of clothing, and particularly shoes, and often they did not fit, but would have to be worn. You must not suppose for a moment that we were the only workers, for many others were doing as much and more than we. But I started out to tell what I saw, heard, and did, and I was kept so busy that I didn't have time to know what others were doing.

        The soldiers were the most cheerful persons we

would see. They would come with their clothes faded, ragged, and drawn up from rain and exposure until the tops of their socks were showing, and we would never hear a murmur or complaint from them.

        One day Neil Brown came in to see us. He looked so weather-beaten that I scarcely recognized him. I gazed at his handsome, bronzed face only a beardless boy - and thought him the picture of bravery, and he looked as if the word "fail" never entered his vocabulary, although it appeared dark to us. You would see often perfect caricatures among the poor fellows, but if it made them sensitive, they didn't show it. They seemed merry and light-hearted, and I would often look at them and wonder that in the midst of so many uncertainties how they could be bright; for who knew but that before the week was out some of them would be still in death. I could hardly restrain my tears before them, and would often leave them to conceal my emotions. Many of these dear ones I had known from childhood, and in our exile they felt very near to us. With how much pleasure did we contribute to their wants and try to make their stay with us pleasant! And when we would bid them good-bye, it was often their last farewell on earth.

CHAPTER XIV.

and a little while after he would be seated up beside the driver on an artillery wagon sailing another way. I would send runners to hunt him, would bring him home and punish him; but often the temptation to be with the soldiers would overcome him, and he would start again. He would listen to them talk, and he would tell us marvelous tales. He had no idea of numbers and his hundreds of killed and wounded would swell up into the thousands. To sum it all up, he was fast getting to be a regular newsmonger, and was as well known as any boy in Marietta. He knew persons I had never heard of, and would yell out, "Howdy, Bill," maybe to some settled man, or one with gray hairs. But to top the climax, Mr. Fred Shepherd came leading him in one day, and told me if I didn't want a dead boy I would have to keep him at home. He said: "I just pulled him out from under a car that was oscillating, ready to start. His whole bag of marbles had tumbled out and had rolled under the cars, and he started right after them, and I happened along just in time to save him." It was such a narrow escape that it made me tremble , and I thought: "What shall I do with him?" I was almost in despair. I had whipped him, put him to bed, tied him to a chair, and would often bribe him to be good. He had quite a contempt

for girls, and thought it a great insult to be called like them. So I thought over every mode of punishment, and concluded I would put a hoop skirt on him and a dress with a long train. I said: "My son, I have tried to have a nice boy, but he is so bad and runs away so much I will have to make a little girl of him." He wailed, but I persisted, and took my chair for the evening and stayed with him. In a short while several persons came up to my room, and he would run behind the door, pulling his train after him. He would stay still for some time, until his curiosity would get the best of him and he would peep out. Some of the ladies got a glimpse of his hoop skirt, and laughed heartily, and asked me what on earth was the matter with the child. I told them I had made a girl of him to keep him at home; that he ran away and behaved so badly. Then he would scream and cry and try to explain, but I persisted; and late in the evening he got so tired of the room he ventured out in the hall to see what was going on among the children, but as soon as he spied them he came flying back and they after him to know what was the matter. But "Sallie," as I called him, got in first, trail and all, and slammed the door and said: "Please, ma'am, take them off, and I will never run off again." It did break him of this troublesome

habit of running off, but in after years I had cause to regret it; for the name followed him to Nashville, and more than one fight resulted from his being called by that name. And whenever they did dare to utter that name they would prepare to get out of his way, for rocks would fly in the cause. But after he grew up to manhood the name seemed to have a fascination for him, for his partner for life was called "Sallie."

CHAPTER XV.

the children shared with the older ones in this terrible nervous strain, they became so excited that study was out of the question. My nieces went out to stay a few days with their mother, never dreaming of any trouble. The enemy were advancing, and soon old Kennesaw resounded with the roar of artillery. We would go out at night and listen to the reverberation of that old mountain, knowing that every shot was the death knell of some dear one. O the tension was fearful! How my heart would go out to our dear boys and the loved ones at home! But all we could do was to bow our heads in prayer and beg God to help us all and sustain us by his grace. Nearer and nearer the sounds would come, the excitement increasing. I never will forget the day the news came that Gen. Polk was killed. He was greatly beloved by all, not only for his bravery, but for his pure Christian character. The next startling information was that the enemy were in a few miles of the town in overwhelming numbers, and were advancing rapidly. The scene beggared description - the town was almost in a frenzy of excitement. Our house was crowded with soldiers, as the army was almost in the town. The boys begged Mr. Morgan to take us South, and he said he had moved his family so much he didn't see how he could go farther; but

that boom, boom, boom got to be every minute, resounding from hilltop to hilltop. We could see the smoke from the firing. O it was a grand but awful sight! We could do nothing but walk, talk, and wait, feeling that some great calamity was impending. We could hear nothing from Sister Lucy and family, and knew by that time that the enemy were near her house, and we thought of the girls, the old father and daughter in their helpless condition, and we were miserable. We knew the old man could do nothing to protect them, and our hands were equally powerless, we were nearly crazy.

CHAPTER XVI.

around in another direction to meet the enemy, leaving part of his command with Wheeler's Brigade. When they returned to where Wheeler's troops were stationed and heard of the sad plight the family were in, the boys were furious; they believed it premeditated cruelty on the part of the Federals. They jumped on their horses and in the midst of flying shells rode up to where the helpless family were in the woods near their house. The enemy in passing had raided the house,. and as they could not carry off the things, had deliberately ripped open feather beds and had the contents flying in every direction; had knocked in the heads of several barrels of molasses and did all the damage they could. After they left our boys went into the house and saved what things they thought most essential for the family and that could be hurriedly moved; brought ambulances enough to carry the family and what was left of their belongings to Marietta. Some of the boys laughed and said the last things they saw were ducks, chickens, and turkeys struggling in molasses and feathers. After hearing of the treatment they had received, we were terribly frightened, and begged to be taken farther South. The soldiers told Mr. Morgan they would help us in every way to get ready for a hasty departure, so he telegraphed a friend in Augusta to

get us a place. He succeeded in renting half of a house on the Sand Hills, near Augusta. After we decided to go there was no time to lose, so the soldier boys went to work, helped to take down the beds and furniture, and we got things packed up in a short time. Maj. Cummings kindly let us have cars enough to hold our things. Gen. John M. Bright, Col. Terry Cabal, Capt. Collins Bright, Jim Buckner, and many of the Rock City Guards came in and went to work. Such a hurry and confusion there was then, all anxious to see us start. By this time pandemonium reigned in the streets - soldiers, wagons, artillery wagons, drivers shouting and hurrying, and the "tramp, tramp, tramp" was heard in every direction, all falling back as fast as possible, going to Atlanta to make a stand. We were soon in readiness, all of our small possessions packed in the cars. Mr. Morgan, his father and sister with her family, the children and myself, and our faithful Joe got on the car and started to Atlanta. On arriving in that city, we were in such a crowd we had to wait some time before we could push through. Every little while some kind friend would come in and speak a word of encouragement and offer to render some assistance. Maj. John Bransford was also among our friends who volunteered his services.

CHAPTER XVII.

        From Atlanta, Mr. Morgan sent his father, sister, and her little children to Alabama, and we started with our family and t