MARY.”
CHAPTER XXVII
LAST OF CITY POINT
In some early chapters on the good work of the Sanitary Commission I wrote of the denuded hospital camp, belated sick soldiers, etc. After the departure of the Second Corps hospital officers, I was the only white woman in camp, and I took possession of their headquarters, in a rustic cottage of one story built by the engineer corps in pretty artistic style with boughs and branches cut from the woods near by.
Four rooms, with central entrance, made a comfortable homelike shelter where “Aunty” also stayed and looked after my interests. The colored guard detailed by General Russell marched their steady beat daily and nightly, while a stack of muskets stood before my little door. A circular lawn was often occupied by negroes anxious for a word with “De bressed white Yankee lady,” while their picanninies, rolling on the grass, made the place quite lively, despite the warnings of Auntie to “Dem black niggers dat ain’t got no manners no-how.”
This kind-hearted old mammy always, somehow, managed to have a bright bandanna turban and a fresh white apron. She took that rare possession of me, known only to house servants of southern families.
MY QUARTERS AT THE CLOSE OF THE WAR
Mrs. Russell remained in her husband’s headquarters at the Point, and afforded me many pleasant social courtesies. General Russell invited me for a buggy ride to Petersburg, still under command of General Willcox.
As we rode by the deserted earthworks and former lines in front of Petersburg,—the field of the last battle being still strewn with empty canteens, broken muskets, etc., its earthworks upturned and great chasms torn as if by an earthquake,—General Russell pointed to a wrecked fort saying “That was the Burnside mine, the ‘Crater’ where I lost three hundred of the bravest soldiers that ever went into battle. They were the negro hero martyrs of the Burnside mine explosion, where many a brave Yankee white boy also gave up his life.”