This is quite a pretty town, of, perhaps one thousand inhabitants. It is the county town of Tippah County, Mississippi, and is prettily situated in the best portion of the country the regiment had visited. This was Sunday, and the citizens were all at church when our army made its appearance. The minister was reading a hymn when our advance was first descried, and some one at the church door sang out, the "Yankees are coming!" It may be supposed that this created some alarm—perhaps as much as the cry of fire would have done. The congregation rushed for the door, and, as fast as they could get out of the house, skedaddled—some for their homes, but most of them for the timber, on double-quick. It can easily be believed that there was some tall running about this time. They were taken entirely by surprise. The rebel soldiers that had been there, a few days before, were all gone to some other point, and their withdrawal had caused the citizens to suppose that the town of Ripley was in perfect security; but now, of course, they expected, if caught, to be roasted, and eaten by the cannibal Yankees. Our army, however, marched through the town in perfect good order, molesting no one, nor touching a thing belonging to any one.
A few negroes, three or four old men, and some children, were all that could be seen in the streets, as our soldiers passed.
"Yah, yah, yah; Massa said you 'uns would neber come dis here way—yah, yah." Thus said an old darkey, as we passed him. "He was mistaken dat time, for here you is, sure 'nough—yah, yah."
"Where is your master now?" asked one of our boys.
"He's done gone. Wen you 'uns was seen comin', he broke for de brush—yah, yah."
Monday being muster day, the army lay in camp until Tuesday morning, to allow time for making up the muster-rolls.
The women, and some of the male citizens, had returned to their homes, as soon as they ascertained that the Yankees were not particularly fond of roasted rebels, and many of the officers became domesticated at their houses. At one of these houses an officer was talking with the lady, in the parlor, when a private stepped to the door, to make some inquiry. There was in the parlor at the time, quite a pretty, smart-looking girl, ten or twelve years old, who was attentively listening to the conversation. When the soldier came to the door, the mother pointed towards him, and said to the girl:
"Look there, Eliza. There's a Yankee. You was just asking what kind of an animal they were."
The girl looked at the soldier with astonishment, for a second, then, turning to her mother, said:
"Why, mother, that's not a Yankee; that's a man."