At the Yadkin River I found that the bridge had not been burned. It seems that the Federal General Stoneman had been raiding that section of country and had attempted to burn this bridge, but had been driven off by a Confederate force under General Pettus, and some cavalry. Just as I approached it, President Jefferson Davis, with quite a party, came riding by. He was sitting gracefully erect on his horse, and courteously returned our salutes. This was the one occasion on which I saw the President.
We were quite a large number of men along the roadside, and one of the President's party, a captain, rode up to my group and asked if we were willing to go on across the Mississippi and continue the war there? Many of us, I among them, volunteered to go, but we heard nothing more of it. It seems that this really was Mr. Davis's plan, and he was so much set on it, that as late as April 25 he suggested to General Johnston that instead of surrendering to General Sherman, he should disband his infantry, with instructions to them to rendezvous at some appointed place across the Mississippi, and to bring off his cavalry and all his horses and light pieces of artillery. As is well known, General Johnston fully realized the absolute hopelessness of the struggle and deliberately disobeyed his instructions, and surrendered to General Sherman the next day. When one looks back upon the condition of things then as they must have been known to the highest Confederate authorities, it seems almost incredible that such an impracticable idea as continuing the war across the Mississippi could have been entertained for a moment.
At Salisbury a comrade, who had been also for three years my messmate and chum, joined me, and we traveled from there as far as Chester, S. C., where our ways parted. Strange to say, it seemed to me that I began to improve from the moment I left the hospital. I had a strong fever on me, but was bent on getting home. At Salisbury an amusing event occurred. This was about April 19. Lee's army had been surrendered ten days before, and the first lot of his men, probably 300 or so, now came along, and learning that there was a Confederate storehouse here with supplies of food and clothing, determined to help themselves. I joined the crowd to get my share. The warehouse was guarded by about a dozen boys of the home guard, who protested violently; but they were just swept one side, and the door was broken open, and every man helped himself to what he wanted or needed. I got a handful of Confederate money, a pair of shoes, some flour and bacon, a pair of socks, and a small roll of jeans. This roll of cloth I carried clear home across my shoulders, and when I reached Aiken, in May, exchanged it with the baker for one hundred bread tickets, which provided our family with bread for the rest of the summer.
The railway for a short distance from Salisbury was intact, and here we discovered an engine and two box-cars waiting for President Davis and the Confederate Cabinet. The crowd of soldiers determined to seize this train, and we told the engineer that he must either carry us as far as he could, and then come back for the President, or we would put him off and take the train ourselves. He yielded to force, and carried us about 20 miles. We then got off, and he went back. This led to an amusing experience a couple of days later. There was another section of torn-up track, and then another place where another engine and one box-car were in waiting again for the President and Cabinet. The crowd had dwindled down very much now, so comparatively only a few of us were on hand. These, I among them, at once clambered up on top of the car, and sat there. Presently I saw Gen. Sam Cooper approaching with a squad of about a dozen boys, home guards as they were called. He halted them within a dozen paces of the car, and then gave the orders, "ready, aim," and we had a dozen old muskets pointed at us. Then shaking his finger at us he said, "You scoundrels, you are the men who stole that train day before yesterday. If you do not drop off that car I'll blow you to hell." We dropped. In jumping down, my tin bucket, captured at Bentonville, was crushed against the side of the car. The spoon was in my haversack, and I have it still—1904. I thought to myself, however, "Old cock, I'll get even with you. I have a scheme you don't know about." Going off a few steps I said to my chum, "Just let's wait here until the Cabinet arrives. I bet that we two at least will get back on that car." We lounged around for an hour or two, and presently the wagons appeared with the Cabinet. I knew that Mrs. Geo. A. Trenholm, the wife of the Confederate Secretary of the Treasury, was along, and being a Charlestonian, who knew my family, I felt sure that when I made myself known she would help me. True enough, as soon as I made myself known to her she spoke to General Cooper, and four of us were given permission to ride on top of the car, one at each corner, with our legs dangling over, for the top of the car in the middle was smashed in. Mrs. Trenholm also kindly gave me a half loaf of bread and the half of a chicken.
We jolted along in this way over the good section of the road, until we came to the next break, when we got off, and after tendering our thanks plodded along on foot again.
Gen. Sam'l S. Cooper was Adjutant-General of the Confederate Army, and the senior in rank of Gen. Robert E. Lee, and was a Pennsylvanian. He ranked Lee in the Confederate service; and in the Federal Army before the war he also ranked the great Confederate commander, he having been Adjutant-General of the United States Army.
At Chester I parted with my companions, as our routes diverged. I walked from that town to Newberry, where I met one of my comrades, whose family lived there. He took me to his house, and I stayed there two days. Upon my departure he saw that my haversack was well filled with provisions.
The railway was intact from Newberry to Abbeville, so I got a lift that far.
While making my way through the country I was always treated with much hospitality by all the people along my route. There was only one exception. This was in Chester County, when one day, with my haversack empty, and hunger calling impatiently, I stopped at a farm-house and asked for some food, offering to pay for it. The respectable-looking man whom I addressed asked me what kind of money I had. I said, "Only Confederate money." He replied, "I won't take anything except gold or silver and have no food to give away," and shut the door in my face. I inquired of some negroes, as I walked off, and was told he was a very well-to-do man, and a preacher!
In striking contrast was the treatment by a poor farmer's wife the same day. I stopped at a small farm-house by the roadside, and in response to my call a woman opened the house door, and looking out cautiously asked who I was. I replied, "I am a Confederate soldier trying to get home. I am sick, and want something to eat." She called out, "You got smallpox?" "No," I said. Again she asked, "You got the measles?" "No, I've got only fever, and only want to rest; and if you have anything to spare, something to eat." She then told me to come into the house, and showing me into the back porch, spread a comfort on the floor with a pillow, and said, "My husband got back from the army just yesterday, and went to town this morning. I am sorry, but there's not a scrap of meat in the house, only some veal which he killed this morning. Now you just lie down and take a rest while I cook you some veal, and corn bread." I laid down, and was soon asleep. After a while the good woman aroused me, and led the way to the table, where she had prepared some veal chops and corn bread for me, which I ate with relish. She refused to receive any pay, as she said she "could not receive pay from a soldier." So giving her my warm thanks I resumed my route toward Newberry.