The war began. The “conflict” which the North, not the South, had made “irrepressible,” came at last. Troops were organizing in every part of this sunny land. As rapidly as the battalions were formed they were hurried to the front. There was, for a time, no special trouble in procuring, in the cities, the requisite uniforms and camp equipage. The women, in the towns where troops were stationed, applied themselves primarily to the construction of Havelocks and tobacco bags. These tobacco bags, by the way, were supposed to serve the same purpose as scalps in another kind of warfare. They marked, at least, the long-roll of pleasant words and kindly glances, if not of incipient flirtations. In the country districts, however, the work for the soldiers was more arduous. The whole time and thought of the women was given to the preparation of clothing. The courthouse or church formed a convenient place of meeting, and there the overcoats, jackets and other garments were deftly made. And how many hopes and prayers went forth with the flash of the flying needle, and the ache of the weary fingers. Nothing was too irksome, or too hard. The women made cartridges and sand bags, and in town and country alike scraped lint and prepared bandages, in sad anticipation of what was soon to come.
In a single word, the Southern women, old and young, gentle and simple, had but one thought, and that was to aid and encourage, in every conceivable way, the soldiers of the South. Aye! and the valor in the field would have but little worth without the bravery at home. Doubtless, many of you remember these exquisite lines:
The maid who binds her warrior’s sash,
And smiling, all her pain dissembles,
The while, beneath her drooping lash,
One starry tear-drop hangs and trembles—
Though Heaven alone records the tear,
And fame shall never know her story,
Her heart has shed a drop as dear