“'Father, Harvey and I having agreed to go to Washington to enter the army, I wish to make some arrangements for my family. You know I have plenty for Jennie and the babies, and I want to leave all in your hands to do with as if it were your own, so that the family will have such comforts as they desire.'
“David's wife, Jennie, was a delightful little woman, with two beautiful children—Jennie, named for her mother, and Sarah, for my wife. I said to David that I would write to his brother James, who was a widower, having no children, to come and stay with Jennie. I at once wrote James, who was practicing medicine at Winchester, Va., that I feared it would be 'unhealthy' for him there, so to come to me at once. This being done and all necessary arrangements made, David and Harvey bade all an affectionate farewell and started for their farm, leaving their mother and Mary in tears. As their footsteps died away their mother went to the door, exclaiming, “'Oh, my children! will I ever see you again?' “That night we all joined in a general conversation on the subject of the war. It was arranged that Peter should start next morning for Indianapolis to see the Governor, and, if possible, obtain authority to raise a regiment under the call of the President. This having been decided upon we all retired, bidding each other good night. I presume there was little sleeping in our house that night save what little Mary did, the poor child being entirely unconscious of the excitement and distress in the family. The next morning Peter took the train for Indianapolis, Tom went down town to ascertain the latest news, and I took my horse and rode out to David's farm, leaving the two women in tears, and little Mary inquiring: “'What is the matter, mamma and aunty?' “I rode on in a deep study as to the outcome of all this trouble. I came to David's house, unconscious for a moment as to where I was, aroused, however, by hearing some one crying as if in despair. I looked around and saw it was Jennie. She stood on the door-step in great grief, the two children asking where their father had gone. “'Good morning, my daughter,' I said, and, dismounting, I took her in my arms, and laying her head on my shoulder she sobbed as if her heart would break.
“'O! my dear husband, shall I ever see him again? O! my children, what shall I do?' was all she could say.
“I broke down completely, this was too much; the cries of the little children for their papa and the tears of their mother were more than I could stand. He had never left them before to be gone any great length of time. I took Jennie and the children into the house. There was a loneliness and a sadness about the situation that was unendurable, and I at once ordered one of the farm hands to hitch the horses to the wagon and put the family and their little traps in and get ready to take them to my house, and turned David's house over to his head man, Joseph Dent (he being very trusty) to take charge of until David should return. With these arrangements I left with the family for Allentown. On our arrival the meeting of the three women would have melted the heart of a stone. I walked out to the barn and remained there for quite awhile, thinking matters over to myself. When I returned to the house all had become quiet and seemingly reconciled. For several days all was suspense; nothing had been heard from any of our boys; I tried to keep away from the house as much as possible to avoid answering questions asked by the women and the poor little children, which I knew no more about than they did. But while we were at breakfast on the morning of ———, Jennie was speaking of going out to her house that day to look after matters at home and see that all was going well. Just at this moment a boy entered with a letter, saying:
“'Mr. Burton sent me with this, thinking there might be something that you would like to see.'
“Mr. B. was the Postmaster, and very kind to us. He was a true Union man, but the opposition there was so strong that he was very quiet; he kept the American flag flying over his office, which was burned on that account a few nights later, as was supposed, by Southern sympathizing incendiaries. These were perilous times in Southern Indiana.”
“Yes! Yes!” said Col. Bush. “We had a taste of it in Southern Ohio, where I then resided; I know all about it. The men who were for mobbing us at that time are now the most prominent 'reformers,' and seem to be the most influential persons.
Uncle Daniel continued:
“I opened the letter and read it aloud. It ran substantially as follows:
“'We arrived at Columbus, O., on the morning of ———, when
there was some delay. While walking about the depot I
chanced to meet your old friend the Governor. He was very
glad to see me, and said to me, “Lyon, you are the very man
I am looking for.” I asked, “Why, Governor? I am on my way
to Washington to tender my services to the President in
behalf of the Union.” The Governor answered, “You are
hunting service, I see. Well, sir, I have a splendid
regiment enlisted, but want to have a man of some experience
for their Colonel, and as you have been in the Regular Army
and maintained a good reputation, I will give you the
position if you will take it. I grasped him by the hand and
thanked him with all my heart. This was more than I could
have expected. So, you see, I start off well. We are now in
camp. I am duly installed as Colonel. Harvey has been
mustered in and I have him detailed at my headquarters. He
seems to take to soldiering very readily. I have written
Jennie all about matters. I hope she and my darling children
are well and as happy as can be under the circumstances.
“'Your affectionate son,
“'David Lyon.'