It was ten o'clock at night, cold and windy, the rain penetrating to the very bones, and dark as Egypt, when the two companies returned with Mrs. Crane and her six children. One rickety wagon, a mangy old horse, a cow, some bedding, and a few cooking utensils, were the trophies of the trip. These things told a tale of poverty, but they were all the poor widow of the murdered soldier possessed.
The children were all barefooted, and most scantily attired; the little ones shivered with the cold, and the older ones wrapped their tattered garments closer as the wind played rudely with them. A little four-year-old boy eyed the soldiers with a side glance, and clung to his mother, as she held her infant to her breast.
If I were to decide what to do in such a case, I would quickly turn out Mr. 'Squire McMurray, and let Mrs. Crane and her little ones possess the well-stocked farm. To-day the General is endeavoring to get transportation to Indiana for this family, at the expense of the Government.
An old negro resident near this camp, in conversation, a few days since, said to me:
"Look-a-heah! all you white folks, when any debbeltry is done, allers lay it to Massa John Morgan."
"Well," said I, "don't he do a large share of it?"
"Yes, he does do a heap; but, Lor bress you, massa, gib de debble his due; he don't do de half what de white folks say. You see dat tunnel, don't you?" said he, rolling the white of his eyes to the obliteration of all sight of the pupil.
"Yes, I see it," I replied.
"Well, sah! Massa Morgan had no more to do wid dat tunnel dan you do yourself. Morgan warnt no way nigh dis place when dat was done; de folks what lib all round here was de Morganses what do dat work; why, dey done toted rails for free days, and packed 'em in dat tunnel, and we darkeys had to help 'em, and den dey set 'em on fire, and sich a cracklin' as you nebber heard, and in less dan a week ebbery body all over de country was a-tellin' about how as John Morgan burnt de tunnel."