Somehow, after Joe Maxwell’s experience with Mr. Deometari, Mr. Blandford, and the rest, events of importance seemed to follow each other more rapidly. Some of them were surprising, and all confusing. It was in the month of July that Atlanta was taken by General Sherman. A few weeks afterward, Harbert, while cleaning and oiling the old Washington No. 2 hand-press in The Countryman office, told Joe that the Federal army would come marching through the county before long.
“Who told you?” asked Joe.
“De word done come,” replied Harbert “Hit bleeze ter be so, kaze all de niggers done hear talk un it. We-all will wake up some er deze odd-come-shorts an’ fin’ de Yankees des a-swarmin’ all ’roun’ here.”
“What are you going to do?” Joe inquired, laughing.
“Oh, you kin laugh, Marse Joe, but deyer comin’. What I g wine do? Well, suh, I’m gwine ter git up an’ look at um, an’ may be tip my hat ter some er de big-bugs ’mongst um, an’ den I’m gwine on ’bout my business. I don’t speck deyer gwine ter bodder folks what don’t bodder dem, is dey?”
Joe had forgotten this conversation until it was recalled to his mind one morning shortly after his night ride to Hillsborough. General Sherman had swung loose from Atlanta, and was marching down through middle Georgia. The people that Joe saw went about with anxious faces, and even the negroes were frightened.
Before this vast host all sorts of rumors fled, carrying fear and consternation to the peaceful plantations. At last, one cold, drizzly day in November, Joe Maxwell, trudging along the road on his way to the printing-office, heard the clatter of hoofs behind him, and two horsemen in blue came galloping along. They reined up their horses, and inquired the distance to Hillsborough, and then went galloping on again. They were couriers carrying dispatches from the Twentieth Army Corps to General Sherman.