From this point "On to Richmond!" was the grand thought. Steady work it was. The road, strangely enough considering the proximity of two armies, was quite lonesome, and not an incident of interest occurred during the day. Darkness found the two comrades still pushing on.
Some time after dark a light was seen a short distance ahead and there was a "sound of revelry." On approaching, the light was found to proceed from a large fire, built on the floor of an old and dilapidated outhouse, and surrounded by a ragged, hungry, singing, and jolly crowd of paroled prisoners of the Army of Northern Virginia, who had gotten possession of a quantity of corn meal and were waiting for the ash-cakes then in the ashes. Being liberal, they offered the new-comers some of their bread. Being hungry, the "survivors" accepted—and eat their first meal that day. Here seemed a good place to spend the night, but the party in possession were so noisy, and finally so quarrelsome and disagreeable generally, that the "survivors," after a short rest, pushed on in the darkness, determined, if possible, to find some shelter more quiet. The result was a night march, which was continued till the morning dawned.
Thursday morning they entered the village of Buckingham Court House, and traded a small pocket mirror for a substantial breakfast. There was quite a crowd of soldiers gathered around a cellar door, trying to persuade an ex-Confederate A.A.A. Commissary of Subsistence that he might as well, in view of the fact that the army had surrendered, let them have some of his stores; and, after considerable persuasion and some threats, he relinquished the hope of keeping them for himself, and told the men to help themselves. They did so.
The people of the village did not exactly doubt the fact of the surrender, but evidently thought matters had been somewhat exaggerated, facts suppressed, and everything allowed to fall into a very doubtful condition. Confederate money would not pass, however; that was settled beyond doubt.
As the two tramps were about to leave the village, and were hurrying along the high road which led through it, they saw a solitary horseman approaching from their rear. It was easy to recognize at once General Lee. He rode slowly, calmly along. As he passed an old tavern on the roadside, some ladies and children waved their handkerchiefs, smiled, and wept. The General turned his eyes to the porch on which they stood, and slowly putting his hand to his hat, raised it slightly, and as slowly again dropped his hand to his side. The survivors did not weep, but they had strange sensations. They pushed on, steering, so to speak, for Cartersville and the ferry.
Before leaving the village it was the sad duty of the survivors to stop at the humble abode of Mrs. P., and tell her of the death of her husband, who fell mortally wounded, pierced by a musket ball, near Sailor's Creek. She was also told that a comrade who was by his side when he fell, but who was not able to stay with him, would come along soon and give her the particulars. That comrade came and repeated the story. In a few days the "dead man" reached home alive and scarcely hurt. He was originally an infantryman, recently transferred to artillery, and therefore wore a small knapsack, as infantrymen did. The ball struck the knapsack with a "whack!" and knocked the man down. That was all.
Some time during the night the travelers reached the ferry at Cartersville. Darkness and silence prevailed there. Loud and continued shouts brought no ferryman, and eager searchings revealed no boat. The depth of the water being a thing unknown and not easily found out, it was obviously prudent to camp for the night.
On the river's edge there was an old building which seemed a brick one; one wall near the water's edge. A flight of steep, rough steps led to an open door on the second floor. Up these steps climbed the weary men. Inside there was absolute darkness, but there was shelter from the wind. Feeling about on the floor they satisfied themselves of its cleanliness and dryness. The faithful old blankets were once more spread, their owners laid down and at once fell into a deep sleep which was not broken till morning. The room was surprisingly small. When the soldiers entered they had no idea of the size of it, and went to sleep with the impression that it was very large. The morning revealed its dimensions—about ten by twelve feet. The ferryman was early at his post, and put the travelers across cheerfully without charge.
ANY BUTTERMILK AUNTY