“Now go,—don’t be afraid.”
The meeting of the two was a picture for an artist.
With sun-bonnet pushed back, and her coarse shawl drawn closely about her, she timidly approached him, holding out the letter.
General Grant looked up kindly.
“Are you Gineral Grant?” she questioned.
“Yes.”
“Well, my boy’s awful sick down in Tennessee, an’ he’s writ me this letter to cum an’ nus him up; but them men at Cairo what gives passes said I might be a spy, and they wouldn’t give me a pass.
“But, Gineral, I hain’t no spy; I’m a good Union woman as ever lived; and there’s a lady here as allowed that if I’d ask you maybe you’d give me a pass.”
In the meantime, General Grant had looked over the letter and scrutinized the woman, and handing the letter back to her, he said, “Yes, I’ll give you a pass; what is your name?”
The woman gave her name; but she was so delighted that she talked all the while he was writing the pass:—