"I was ordered late in November to Gainesville, Alabama; before reaching that place, my orders were changed to Macon; in February to Auburn, Alabama; thence to the woods to organize a tent hospital. No sick were sent there, and I had nothing to do but to build. Put up eighty large tents, built octagon homes, with rounded tops, and flag-poles on the top of each. Everything looked gloomy, but I kept on as if I expected to remain there always. Just as I had everything completed, received orders to move to Charlotte, North Carolina. When I got to Columbus, Georgia, was ordered to send on my stores with my negroes and women-servants, in charge of a faithful man, while I and my detailed men were to remain in the city during its investment, and as long as the struggle lasted, but at last to save myself, and join my stores in Macon, Georgia. Remained during the fight, while the city fell, and all my detailed men were captured; rode out of the city by the light of the burning buildings, and my road was lighted for twelve or fifteen miles by the burning city; borrowed horses about twelve at night, caught the last retreating train, put my servants Noel and Sam on it; rode on with my true friend Dr. Tates. Found the servants at Genoa Station, a distance of thirty-five miles, next morning at sunrise, thence to Macon; next night found my wife on the same crowded box-car; left her with Mrs. Yates, Mrs. Calan, and another lady from Columbus. Some of my stores had been sent to Atlanta, and some had been sent to Macon; then the railroad was cut between Macon and Atlanta; I had either to remain at Macon and be captured, or take the only road that was clear to Fort Valley, which I did, leaving my wife and Mrs. Yates at Dr. Green's. Yates, myself, Sam, and Noel took to the woods, and there remained about ten days, living as best we could. Then there was a flag of truce, and we came into Fort Valley. Thousands of Yankee cavalry were there in camps; all the railroads cut so we could not leave. One night we stole from the Yankees two good mules, borrowed a wagon, and took our wives across the country until we could strike one end of the Atlanta road, of which the Yankees had not got possession; went on into the city of Atlanta, where I met Dr. Stout, who told me the game was up, that my stores were some of them at Congress Station, some hundred miles away on the Augusta road, and for me to go on there and surrender to the first Yankee who commanded me to do so. Great heaven! what a shock to me! I would rather have died than to have heard it. I went down the road and found my stores, but did not have the honor of surrendering to the Yankees. A mob, constituted of women, children, and renegade Confederate soldiers, and with some negroes, charged my encampment and took everything except my wife, and trunks, and Mrs. Yates, and her trunks, which we saved by putting them into a wagon and driving for our lives out of the back alley of the town. At last we came to Atlanta, where we parted with Dr. and Mrs. Yates. My wife and I travelled to Marion in an old wagon, leaving the poor negroes scattered about in the woods. I only had time to tell them to go where they came from, to their former owners. After a tedious journey, having to beg my bread, I arrived at home (Marion, Alabama) about the first of May, 1865."
The same irregularities existed everywhere; my state of health forbade me to follow these erratic movements: indeed, I was utterly broken down and therefore made my way, not without great difficulty and many detentions, to Alabama, where my little boy had preceded me. Even then, we never dreamed of surrender, nor did the sad news reach us until many days after it had taken place. We were utterly incredulous, we could not, would not believe it. Meanwhile, the state of things described in one of the articles contained in another part of this book, designed for children (Sally's ride) culminated in the long-dreaded Raid.
Why the raiders had recrossed the river, returning to Selma, and leaving undisturbed (alas! only for a time) the elegant plantation-homes which lay all along their route, remained a mystery. It was certain that a detachment of them had been seen and reported by our own scouts, who at that time were in the saddle day and night "watching their motions;" the negroes also declared, "Dey was dare, suah, 'case we dun seed 'em." All able-bodied men had long ago gone to the front. The "home-guard," who were doing their best to keep watch and ward over helpless women and children, were only boys, full of ardor and courage, but too young to join the army, or men who from age or disability were also ineligible. These knew every inch of ground, every hiding-place for many miles. At every plantation they were expected and welcome, whenever they could find an opportunity to dash in, dismount, report the state of matters outside, and hastily swallow the "snack" always kept ready and set before them without loss of time, quite as a matter of course.
The news brought by these scouts, far from quieting apprehension, tended to increase and deepen it. The old man who, time out of mind, had managed the little ferry fifteen miles away, had been shot for refusing to ferry over some Federal soldiers. The bright light so anxiously watched one dark night proved to have been a fire, which had consumed the dwelling, gin-house, stables, etc., of a widowed cousin. Her cows had been slaughtered, her horses stolen, her garden and "truck-patch" ploughed all over in the search for hidden silver. Other and even more hideous tales (alas! too true) appalled the hearts and tried the courage of the women, who yet must never give up trying to protect the interests confided to them, must seem to hold the reins of power when really they were at the mercy of the negroes, who (to their credit be it spoken) behaved under these trying circumstances extremely well, in some cases showing the most affectionate solicitude and sympathy. They could not, however, in all cases be trusted to withstand the bribes sure to be offered for information as to hiding-places of valuables. So, little by little, silver and jewelry were made up into small packages to be disposed of secretly.
For several days all were on the qui vive. The fearful suspense, dread, and anguish of that time will never be forgotten by those who shared those anxious vigils; from earliest light until nightfall, restless feet traversed the house and yard, anxious eyes watched every possible approach,—the road, the woods, the plantation. At night, not one of the "white folks" thought of undressing; the very last of a bag of real coffee, which had been treasured like gold, was now brought out. During the day, the usual sweet-potato coffee was served. In the cool April nights, a cheerful fire always blazed in the open fireplace of the parlor, by it was set a pot of very strong coffee, upon which the ladies relied to keep them awake. One at a time would doze in her chair or upon the sofa, while the others kept watch, walking from window to window, listening at the fast-locked door, starting at every sound. Occasionally the dogs would bark furiously: "There they are!" cried everybody, and rising to their feet, with bated breath and wildly-beating hearts, they would listen until convinced that their four-footed friends had given a false alarm. Those of the women-servants who had no husbands begged every night to sleep "in de house." They were terrified. Their mattresses strewed the floors, and it really seemed as if they were a kind of protection, although they always fell asleep and snored so loudly as to drive the ladies, who wanted to listen for outside sounds, to the verge of distraction. Some one would occasionally interrupt the noise by administering to each in turn a good shake or insisting upon a change of position, but at best the lull was temporary. Soon one of the sleepers would give a suppressed snort, to be immediately joined by one after another, until the unearthly chorus once more swelled to rack the quivering nerves of the listeners.
Sometimes a peculiar tapping announced the presence outside of the master of the house. Creeping softly to the window of an empty room, the wife would receive assurances of present safety. She would then hand out valuable packages of silver or jewelry to be hidden far in the woods in places unknown to any but the owner, who marked the way to the buried treasure by "blazing" certain trees. Many valuables were hidden in this way and recovered after the war. The feeble condition of Colonel —— added tenfold to the anxiety of his family, for, although he persisted in doing his duty, it was certain that continual exposure and fatigue might at any time prove fatal. Insidious disease was even then gnawing at his vitals; but, Spartan-like, he folded above the dreadful agony the robe of manly courage and dignity, which hid it from even those who knew him best. Amid all the darkness and sorrow his pleasant smile cheered, his commanding presence inspired respect and confidence. From the windows of his soul shone the steady light of the patriotism that hopeth all things, believeth all things, endureth all things. It was not God's will that he should go forth to battle, but with a kindly heart and generous hand he helped the soldiers to do their duty by caring for their "loved ones at home."
Meanwhile the noble wife proved a helpmate indeed. A true type of Southern women. Not a duty was neglected. She looked well to the ways of her household and the well-being of the negroes committed to her care. The spinning and weaving of cloth for the almost naked soldiers in the field went on; the quarters were visited, the sick were cared for. The calm, steady voice read to the old, precious promises, or instructed the young negroes as to the way of truth. So day after day passed, the same anxious dread chilling all hearts, added fear always recurring as the darkness came with its terrible possibilities.
April had come, bringing a greater profusion of flowers, painting the face of nature with lovelier hues. No one knew why the neighborhood had thus far escaped being "raided." One evening the scouts (not one alone, but several) reported, "Not a Yankee on this side the river. Gone off on a raid miles on the other side." Colonel —— came in later confirming the report. He was persuaded to remain for one night's rest, and immediately retired to his room. About dusk two men in the disguise (it is now believed) of Confederate soldiers—ragged, worn, barefooted, and hungry—came stealing in, apparently fearful of being discovered and taken prisoners. No one suspected them. They were warmly welcomed. A supper of broiled ham, milk, eggs, corn-muffins, and real coffee was set before them. They were afterwards shown to a comfortable cabin in the yard,—"the boys' room,"—provided with every comfort, a servant to wait on them, and left to repose. These also having assured the ladies that "the Yanks" had gone off on a raid on the other side, it was deemed safe to take advantage of such an opportunity to go regularly to bed and rest, in preparation for whatever might befall afterwards. By ten o'clock everybody was sound asleep. About midnight one of the ladies, hearing a slight noise, arose and looked out the window. Old Whitey was walking about the yard, nibbling the grass. Knowing he was never allowed in the yard, she simply supposed that one of the servants had left open the quarter-gate. Not another sound save the mule's step broke the stillness of the night. Strange to say, the dogs were nowhere to be seen, nor did they bark at the mule. Wondering a little at this circumstance, the lady was about to lie down again, when simultaneously every door of the house was assailed with the butts of guns with a terrific noise. At the same time many hoarse voices yelled, "Open these doors, d—— y—! Open up, here, or we'll burn the house over your heads!" Everybody at once realized the situation. In that fearful moment strength and courage seemed to come as from above. The servants, sleeping upon the floor, began to scream, but were instantly silenced. The ladies, slipping on dressing-gowns, but never stopping to put on shoes or stockings, quietly opened the doors. Instantly the whole house swarmed with Federal soldiers. Their first act was to capture Colonel —— and drag him outside the house, giving him no time to put on any clothes save his pants and night-shirt. The raiders then proceeded to ransack the house. Every room, every closet, every trunk, box, drawer, was rifled. Two men went to the sideboard, quietly gathering up the few silver spoons, forks, ladles, etc., not hidden, wrapped them up and put them in their pockets. Others stripped off the pillow-and bolster-cases, stuffing them with clothing, pictures, etc., tied them together, and placed them ready to be slung over the backs of their horses. Bayonets wore thrust through portraits; the sofas, beds, and lounges were pierced in search of concealed valuables; bureau-drawers were emptied, then pitched out of the doors or windows; the panels of locked armoires were broken or kicked to pieces to get at the contents; even the linen sheets were dragged off the beds and thrust into already full sacks and bags. Meanwhile, bonfires had been kindled in the yard. By the light the swarming demons carried on their destructive work outside. Around the pans of delicious milk in the dairy men reached over each others' heads to fill their tin cups. Buttermilk, clabber, fresh butter, disappeared in an instant. In the basement the officers were feasting on ham, etc. The smoke-house was left bare. Sugar, meal, flour, rice, were emptied into the yard, and stamped or shuffled into the dust. Axes or the butts of guns were employed to literally smash everything. Ham, shoulder-meat, etc., were tossed into wagons. Cows were driven off, and, oh, the beautiful horses, the pride and pets of their owners, were led, snorting and frightened, into the road, where the saddles of the cavalry-horses were put upon their shivering backs preparatory to being mounted and ridden away by their new masters.
With perfect calmness the ladies watched the havoc and desolation which was being wrought in their beloved home, among their household treasures. To one of them had been given, some time previous, a sacred trust, a watch which before the war had been presented to a minister by his congregation. When dying in one of the Confederate hospitals he had given it to Mrs. ——, begging that, if possible, it might be sent to his wife in Arkansas. This watch had been concealed upon the tester of a bed, and so far had escaped discovery. But one of the servants having given information regarding it, suddenly two soldiers dragged Mrs. —— into her own room, where they believed it was concealed. She positively refused to give it up. Throwing off the mattress, the men held a match to the feather-bed beneath, saying, "Here goes your d——d old house, then." Had the house been her own she might still have resisted, but as she was only a guest, and had been sheltered and most kindly treated, the watch was given up. The ruffians then insisted upon searching her, and in trying to force a ring from her finger, bruised and hurt the tender flesh. Even the negro cabins were searched. In several instances small sums of money which had been saved up were taken. Many threats to burn up "the whole business" were made, but, for some unknown reason, not carried into effect. Just at dawn the raiders mounted their horses and rode away, recrossing the river to Selma with their prisoners. As they rode through the "quarters," the negro men joined them on mules, horses, or on foot. Among the prisoners rode Colonel —— upon an old, worn-out horse, without saddle or bridle. By his side, guarding him and mounted upon the colonel's magnificent riding-horse, fully accoutred, was a negro man belonging to a neighboring plantation, who had guided the Federals to "ole ——'s place." Just behind, upon a sorry mule, escorted by a mixture of negroes and Yankees riding his own fine horses, came Colonel M——, his head erect, his eyes blazing scornfully, glancing from side to side, or drawing a sharp, hard breath between his clinched teeth as he overheard some ribald jest. His house and gin-house had been burned, his fields laid waste; he had left his young daughters without protection and without shelter. What the ladies felt as they saw this sad cavalcade pass out of sight may not be told. Morning dawned upon a scene of desolation, sickening in the extreme,—ruin, waste, wreck everywhere. The house emptied of everything valuable, floors filthy with the prints of muddy feet, the garden ruined, furniture battered and spoiled. Outside, broken barrels, boxes, etc., strewed the earth; lard, sugar, flour, meal were mingled together and with the sandy soil; streams of molasses ran down from broken casks; guns which had belonged to the family were broken and splintered and lay where they had been hurled; fences were broken down. Had there been any stock left, there was nothing to keep them out of garden or yard. Only old Whitey was left, however, and he walked gingerly about sniffing at the cumbered ground, looking as surprised as he was able. The carriage and buggy had been drawn out, the curtains and cushions cut and smeared thoroughly with molasses and lard. Breakfast-time arrived, but no Ruthy came up from the quarter; no smoke curled upward from the kitchen-chimney; a more hopeless, dismal party could not well be imagined than the three women who walked from room to room among the débris, neither noticing or caring for the losses, only intensely anxious regarding the helpless prisoner, who was surely suffering, but whom they could not hope to relieve. As the day wore on, some of the women from the quarters ventured near, bringing some coarse food which had been cooked in their own cabins; they would not, however, go inside the house, "Mass Yankee tole us we gwine ter get kill ef we wait on you all." Towards evening Mrs. —— walked down to the "quarter." Not a man was to be seen. The women were evidently frightened and uncertain as to how far the power of "Mass Yankee" extended. Their mistress had been a kind friend, and their habitual obedience and respect for her could not at once be overcome, but the threats and promises of the Federals had disturbed and unsettled them. Aunt Sophy was an old servant who had nursed Mrs. ——'s mother. For years she had been an invalid, kindly nursed and cared for by her master and mistress, receiving her meals from the family table, and having always some of the younger servants detailed to wait on her. Passing by her cottage now, Mrs. —— was astonished to see it empty. "Where is Sophy? what has happened to her?" "Oh, she dun gone to Selma." "That is impossible; why, she has not walked even as far as the house for months." "Well, she dun gone, shuah; she make Elsie hitch up ole Whitey in de cart and dribe her ober. One genplum he gwine gib her a mule for her own sef and forty acres ob groun'; so she dun gon' ter see 'bout hit." "Did any one else go?" "Oh, yes, mistis, Uncle Albert and Aunt Alice dey go too, and dey want we all to go 'long, but I's gwine ter wait untwill sees what Jack got ter say, 'cause I ain't gwine nowha dragging all dem chillum along untwill I knows for sartin whar I's gwine ter stop." Sick at heart, the lady turned away, slowly returning to the desolated house. Her occupation was gone; order and system could not be restored. There was nothing before the anxious woman but to watch and wait for news. On the second day one of the negro men returned, bringing a tale almost too horrible for belief,—Colonel M——, whose defiant bearing had incensed his captors more and more, had been shot down for refusing to obey orders. "Master was well, but looked mighty bad." The man also brought the first news of the surrender, a rumor which all refused to believe, although even the possibility filled all breasts with terrible forebodings. Could it be true? No! a thousand times no! And yet,—oh, the dread, the anguish of waiting to know.
The bright sunlight, the waving trees, the joyous notes of the feathered songsters seemed a mockery. Their stricken hearts cried out to all the beautiful things of nature,—