"Rather reluctantly, but he consents, nevertheless," replied Abner.
"Yes," said the old colonel, entering the room, "I could do no better, seeing I was his prisoner."
The next day, Abner, with his regiment, steamed down the river toward the Gulf. The steamer passed through the Florida Straits, and after a very rough voyage, which was the one event of the war that did not remind Corporal Grimm of any one of his experiences with General Preston, they landed on the coast of South Carolina, and thence set across the country to join General Sherman. They came up with him at Columbia, the capital, on the 18th of February, 1865, the day after its capture, and Sherman at once started for North Carolina, entering Fayetteville, March 11, 1865. Abner was at Raleigh, the capital of North Carolina, when the final crisis came. Lee's army surrendered April 9, 1885—Oleah Tompkins, Colonel Scrabble, Seth Williams and Howard Jones with the rest. Raleigh was taken April 13th; Mobile and Salisbury, N. C., on the same day. The Confederacy was conquered, the war was over, and all good people rejoiced in the prospect of peace. But a wail went out over the Nation at the news of the assassination of Abraham Lincoln.
Abner's regiment was ordered to Washington, to pass the grand review and be mustered out. The grandest army the world ever knew passed down Pennsylvania avenue on the review.
Cheerful news had come from home. Old Mr. Tompkins was rejoicing that peace had come to the country, and that he might return to his home.
On the evening of his discharge, Abner was, with his fellow-officers, making arrangements for the next day, when a messenger entered with a telegram addressed to him. He took the message and opened it. It contained the brief sentence:
"Your father is dead."
No more horror can be crowded into four words. The color left the young man's cheek as he leaned against the table for support. His associates, learning his bad news, considerately left him alone. Abner was almost stunned with grief. Now that he was so near home, after a separation of three long years, it seemed too cruel for belief. There was nothing to detain him, and he started by the first train for the Junction. As he was borne swiftly homeward, his thoughts dwelt sadly on the father whom he should never meet again on earth. He never knew before how deeply he had loved him. His every word to him, when he was a child, his fond caresses, and his kind, fatherly indulgence came to his mind. As the iron wheels roared on, he read the telegram over and over again, but could gain no information from it. It contained simply those four brief words, and no more.
The Junction was reached at last, and he saw the family carriage there with the old coachman waiting. The old carriage had lost its stately splendor; it was faded, dilapidated and worn. He hastened to Job, half hoping he might find the telegram a mistake, but Job confirmed it. His father had died suddenly two days before, but the funeral had not taken place yet; they were waiting for him. He had died of heart disease, and had dropped dead from his favorite chair in the lawn. Abner stepped in, and Job drove off, the carriage rattling and creaking, and the faded skirts flapping noisily on the side.
From Job he learned that most of the negroes had left the old plantation, since the war had brought them freedom, that the place was greatly changed since the last time he had seen it. The houses were dilapidated and many of the fences down. It was late in the night before he reached the home of his childhood; but, dark as it was, he could see the sad change that time and neglect had made on the dear old place.