"Come, Lassie, here is a telegram from Mrs. B——," said my hostess. "Come, dear, and go with me to the train to meet her. How I dread it, poor, dear lady!"
There was a sublime faith in the motherly face that met us in the station—a faith that lifted up our hearts to the heights of Divinity. There was no question, no fear, in the serene, loving eyes. "I've come to see my boy; he was with General Johnston," she said.
We drove back through a mourning Richmond, a strange, foreign Richmond that the mother did not know. From the doors of the houses hung streamers of black. Ambulances filled with wounded passed us, their torturing road marked by the trail of blood that oozed, drop by drop, from human veins.
Wagons filled with dead rolled by, the stiffened bodies piled one upon another in ghastly heaps, the rigid feet projecting from the ends of the vehicles. It was the most appalling sight that ever greeted human eyes, but it was the only way to save our fallen soldiers from the desecration of birds of prey. All the vehicles of every description were utilized, the less severely wounded walking, their wounds bound in bloody rags. They formed a long procession, nearly five thousand, young boys, middle-aged and old men, from privates to high officers, passing on to the homes of Richmond where they would find tender care. From some of the open windows came shrieks of pain from those whose courage had been overcome by mortal agony. Down the streets new regiments were marching to the front to fill, in time, other dead-wagons and ambulances.
Sometimes the Richmond of those days comes back to me now and I shudder anew with terror.
Reaching the beautiful home of our friend and hostess, we hurried our beloved charge, this sweet mother of a soldier, through corridors where closed doors guarded scenes which could be but dimly imagined. Up the stairway and along the hall to a small room she followed our friend, who sent me down to order up a waiter of refreshments. On my return she came out to meet me.
"She does not know, Lassie; ah, who will tell her? Heaven help her! Heaven help her!"
Later I saw her go with firm step, erect form, and faith-redeemed face, and stop silently as if in prayer at a closed door. Some one had told her. The door opened and she passed through. Then it gently shut, leaving her alone with her dead.