Near the monument, in the midst of the level burying-place, grew a loftily nodding poke-weed, the monarch of his tribe. It was more like a tree than a weed. With its roots down among the graves, and its hundred hands stretched on high, it stood like another monument, holding up to heaven, for a sign, its berries of dark blood.
Pursuing a road along the ridge in a southwesterly direction, Lewy at length reined up his horse in another peaceful little grove. Without a word he pointed to the rotting knapsacks and haversacks on the ground, and to the scarred trees. I knew the spot; it was the boundary of the bloody “cornfield.” We had approached from the side on which our boys advanced to that frightful conflict, driving the Rebels before them, and being driven back in turn, in horrible seesaw, until superior Northern pluck and endurance finally prevailed.
In a field beside the grove we saw a man ploughing, with three horses abreast, and a young lad for escort. We noticed loose head-boards, overturned by the plough, on the edge of the grove, and lying half imbedded in the furrows. This man was ploughing over graves!
Adjoining the field was the historic cornfield. I walked to the edge of it, and waited there for the man to turn his long slow furrow down that way. I sat upon the fence, near which was a trench filled with unnumbered Rebel dead.
“A power of ’em in this yer field!” said the ploughman, coming up and looking over as I questioned him. “A heap of Union soldiers too, layin’ all about yer. I always skip a Union grave when I know it, but sometimes I don’t see ’em, and I plough ’em up. Eight or ten thousand lays on this farm, Rebels and Union together.”
Finding him honest and communicative, I wished him to go over the ground with me.
“I would willingly, stranger, but I must keep the team go’n’.”
I suggested that the boy was big enough to do that.
“Wal, he kin. Plough round onct,”—to the boy,—“or let ’em blow, tain’t go’n’ to hurt ’em none.”
So he concluded to accompany me. We got over into the “cornfield,” late a hog-pasture, and presently stopped at a heap of whitening bones.