"Straw! I remember two stacks, four miles out on the Spottsylvania road. I saw them last night as I galloped in from the front."
Armed with a requisition from the Provost Marshal to seize two stacks of straw, with two wagons driven by freedmen, accompanied by four Christian Commission delegates, away we went across the battle-field of December, fording Hazel Run, gaining the heights, and reaching the straw stacks owned by Rev. Mr. Owen, a bitter Rebel.
"By whose authority do you take my property?"
"The Provost Marshal, sir."
"Are you going to pay me for it?"
"You must see the Provost Marshal, sir. If you are a loyal man, and will take the oath of allegiance, doubtless you will get your pay when we have put down the Rebellion."
"It is pretty hard. My children are just ready to starve. I have nothing for them to eat, and you come to take my property without paying for it."
"Yes, sir, war is hard. You must remember, sir, that there are thousands of wounded men,—your Rebel wounded as well as ours. If your children are on the point of starving, those men are on the point of dying. We must have the straw for them. What we don't take to-night we will get in the morning. Meanwhile, sir, if anybody attempts to take it, please say to them that it is for the hospital, and they can't have it."
Thus with wagons stuffed, we leave Rev. Mr. Owen and return to make glad the hearts of several thousand men. O how they thank us!
"Did you get it for me? God bless you, sir."