As the night wore on, all nature seemed at rest. The night birds ceased their calls, the wildcats climbed higher up the mountain, and the whippoorwill ceased its mournful song. But this was even more terrible, as every remaining sound was more distinct. The rustling of a leaf or a noise in the bushes sent the blood hurrying to her heart.
At last gray streaks of light began to climb above the mountain in the east, and were tinged with purple and orange, and soon the white light of day fell about her; but it was not till late in the afternoon of the second day that a train came, and her weary vigil ended. For twenty-six hours she had been alone with her dead.
She reached Washington without delay, and before boarding the train for Philadelphia saw the coffin of her son put on board. But when she reached Philadelphia she found that by some mistake the remains had been left at Baltimore. She telegraphed back, and waited in the station till they were brought to her, and then followed them to her own house.
Afterward her husband was killed; and she went to the front again, and secured his body, and brought it home for interment. Who shall measure the anguish of the women who watched at home till there was one dead in almost every house?
A mother in Maine received the news that her only son had been wounded and taken prisoner, and had been sent to Richmond. “I am going to him,” she said. Her husband and neighbors tried to dissuade her. On her journey toward the front she called on Governor Andrew of Massachusetts. “My dear madam,” he said, “I can do nothing for you. The only thing I could do would be to give you a letter of introduction to President Lincoln.”
“Well, give me that.”
When she reached Washington she called on the President, and after a weary waiting was shown into his presence. “Why, madam,” said the great-hearted Lincoln, “I can do nothing for you. If he were within our own lines, I would give you a pass, but I cannot send you to Richmond. At the best, I could only get you beyond our own pickets.”
“Then, please give me a pass beyond your pickets.”
This was done, and she passed the Union lines to fall into the hands of the Confederate pickets. The latter refused to allow her to proceed.
“I am going right on to Richmond. Shoot if you will.” And she started on. They did not shoot, but took her into camp, and from the headquarters of that command she was sent on to Richmond.