On our return from Smithville I found a short letter from Ben, who had enrolled his name with our company, but had not yet come down to join us:
“Dear john,” he wrote, “when Curnal Smith was up here, I couldent leave on account of Viny, but it’s come now, and a fine one it is, and Viny is doin’ well; so I’ll be down sum’ers about the last of the week. i hate orful to leave Viny and the baby, and it’ll be mity lonesome at night, not to trot him on my nee, but I be dogged if ime goin’ to see the yankeys get into north Carolina if my carciss will help to stop ’em. Less me and you git together when we fight, cause I want somebody ime cwainted with to see me ‘mongst the balls, and it’ll help me to keep game.
“if i don’t git to Wilminton in time, i’ll meet you at Goldsboro’. Till Death, yours,
Ben.”
[CHAPTER XL.]
Father, mother, Carlotta and I are standing in the dim light of dawn, under the old shed at the depot. We lack only Lulie to be the same party who stood there five years before, waiting for the train. How things have changed! The little dark eyed girl that was gazing out of the car window then is the beautiful woman who is weeping and clinging to my arm now. Instead of mirth and cheerfulness, all around us now is sadness and gloom. Great rough fellows are dropping their first tears, as they strain a sobbing wife or little child to their bosom for the twentieth time.
Delicate youths, wearing a brave face in spite of their quivering lips, are holding in their arms fond mothers, who are putting back the hair from their idol’s forehead, perhaps for the last time; and even those who have no one to bid them farewell, and who are attempting to look careless and indifferent, often lift their cuffs to their averted eyes.
We have no piles of baggage now; a plain pine box, filled with the delicacies loving hands have made, and a roll of blankets, are all that we check for.