John Theophelas, my dear little brother, nine years old, was a great comfort to me in these days of trial. He had just brought my beans and was lovingly coaxing me to eat them when Jaccheri came, and a plate was filled for him. After Jaccheri had finished his meager breakfast, seasoned with his adventures on the road, swimming the river at one place carrying his clothes in a bundle on his head, he said he must go. I added a few lines to my diary, which I always kept for my Soldier, and gave it to our faithful letter-carrier to take back to him.
"Ina da days to come," said Jaccheri in his soft Italian voice "ina all lands, no matter, mucha people, mucha gloly, nadie money, no matter, you find Jaccheri here—and here—" first putting his hand over his heart and then drawing from his boot and gracefully brandishing a shining blade. "Gooda-bye."
At the door he turned back, untied his cravat, and wiggled out five pieces of money, three gold dollars and two ninepences. He walked over on tiptoe to where the baby was sleeping, crossed himself and, kneeling by the cradle, slipped into baby's little closed hand two of the gold dollars and around his neck a much worn and soiled scapula.
"Da mon—Confed—noa mucha good, noa now mucha accountable—you mighta want some; want her vely bad before you nota get her. Gooda-bye, some moa."
Dear, faithful old Jaccheri, he would take no refusal, so I let baby keep the money. I was kneeling by the cradle crying and praying for my Soldier and thanking God that he had so good a friend as this poor camp postman, when the door opened softly and Jaccheri looked in.
"I know you cly and so I come back to say gooda-bye some moa, and God bless."
I was reading aloud lovingly and reverently the torn words on the ragged red-flannel scapula which Jaccheri had given to baby: "Cease, the heart of Jesus is with you," when the baby opened his sweet eyes and crowed over the little fortune which had come to him in his dreams, the first gold he had ever seen. Just then my little brother, who had gone downstairs with Jaccheri, came rushing back, his eyes wide open, all excitement, exclaiming:
"Sister! Sister! There's a Yankee down-stairs! Come to see you, but don't you go; hide, hide, sister! I'll stand by the door and he daresent pass by me. Quick, sister, hide! He said that he was one of brother George's friends, but I believe he has killed brother George, and now wants to kill you!"
In the light of the present day the terror of the child seems almost exaggerated, but in those days southern nurses kept children docile by warning them that the Yankees would get them if they did not behave, and the whole environment of childhood intensified the fear thus instilled.