“Indeed! and who asked your permission, sir? And pray, sir, is he your husband or mine?”
“He is your husband, madam, but these are my soldiers. They and I belong to the same army with your husband, and I cannot suffer you, or any one, unchallenged, to send such a demoralizing message in their hearing.”
“Army! do you call this mob of retreating cowards an army? Soldiers! if you are soldiers, why don’t you stand and fight the savage wolves that are coming upon us defenceless women and children?”
“We don’t stand and fight, madam, because we are soldiers, and have to obey orders, but if the enemy should appear on that hill this moment I think you would find 199 that these men are soldiers, and willing to die in defense of women and children.”
“Quite a fine speech, sir, but rather cheap to utter, since you very well know the Yankees are not here, and won’t be, till you’ve had time to get your precious carcasses out of the way. Besides, sir, this thing is over, and has been for some time. The government has now actually run off, bag and baggage,—the Lord knows where,—and there is no longer any government or any country for my husband to owe allegiance to. He does owe allegiance to me and to his starving children, and if he doesn’t observe this allegiance now, when I need him, he need not attempt it hereafter when he wants me.”
The woman was quick as a flash and cold as steel. She was getting the better of me. She saw it, and, worst of all, the men saw and felt it, too, and had gathered thick and pressed up close all round the porch. There must have been a hundred or more of them, all eagerly listening, and evidently strongly to the woman’s side. This would never do. I tried every avenue of approach to that woman’s heart. It was congealed by suffering, or else it was encased in adamant. She had parried every thrust, repelled every advance, and was now standing defiant, with her arms folded across her breast, rather courting further attack. I was desperate, and with the nonchalance of pure desperation—no stroke of genius—I asked the soldier-question:
“What command does your husband belong to?”
She started a little, and there was a trace of color in her face as she replied, with a slight tone of pride in her voice: “He belongs to the Stonewall Brigade, sir.”
I felt, rather than thought it—but, had I really found her heart? We would see.
“When did he join it?”