[A] These verses were written on the back of a Confederate note, and for a time were ascribed to John Esten Cooke and to Colonel Wythe Mumford; afterward attributed to Colonel Jonas.
Baby's first greenback was put to dry, and then I turned my attention to the big covered basket the sailor had brought in. What an Aladdin treat it was! Raisins—the first I had seen in years and years—coffee, real "sho'-'nuff" coffee—sugar, crushed sugar—how nice! (we had had nothing but sorghum-juice sugar and sweet-potato coffee for so long)—rice and prunes, Jamaica rum, candy and a box of dried figs—nothing ever had tasted so delicious as all these good things—and, well—the Yankee General who gave them all to me—the tones of his voice made more peace than his words. Eating the figs, I repeated the words to baby, saying:
"Never mind, baby, about hating this Yankee. He said your father and he had trailed after the same Indians and smoked their venison at the same camp-fire and had drunk from the same flask. He said you looked like your father, and he said you were a beautiful boy. So you need not mind about hating just this one. He said geography and politics had forced your father and him to opposite courses and it took four years to settle for their hot-headedness and ambitions. You must never be a politician, and—you may love this one Yankee a tiny bit, and may suck a piece of his beautiful candy."
Dr. Suckley not only took us to Norfolk, which was the end of his route, but he took us up the Nansemond River, thirty miles, and up Chuckatuck Creek, to my father's wharf. No one was expecting us. They thought, of course, it was the "Yankees come again," and had all run off and hidden, except my father who came down to catch the boat-line and welcome the travelers, whoever they might be. Oh, the joyful welcome of my great big-hearted father!
Soldiers and sailors, one and all, came and shook hands with us. Baby and my little brother, Johnny, had made friends of them all for us. Baby knew no difference between those who wore the blue and those who wore the gray, and some of them had little ones at home. We said good-bye, with many a regret, to our kind friend and benefactor, Dr. Suckley, and to the sailors and officers, and this time cheer after cheer went up for my noble hero Soldier, as the little steamer hauled in the lines and puffed away, and more names were added to the list of Yankees for baby not to hate.
XXIII "SKOOKUM TUM-TUM"
My Soldier did not like to fight his battles over. He said that the memories they revived were too sacred and sorrowful for utterance. The faces of the dead and dying soldiers on the field of battle were never forgotten. The sorrow of widows and orphans shadowed all the glory for him. In the presence of memory he was silent. The deepest sorrow, like the greatest joy, is dumb.
"We are both too worn and weary now for aught else but to rest and comfort each other," he said. "We will lock out of our lives everything but its joys. From adversity, defeat and mourning shall spring calmness for the past, strength for the present, courage for the future. Now that, in obedience to the command of General Lee, I have finished and sent off the report of the last fight of the old division, the closing days of our dear lost cause, we will put up the pen for awhile and lay aside our war thoughts. We will rest and plan for peace and after a time we will take up the pen again and write down our memories for our children and perhaps for the children of the old division. We will build us a nest over the ashes of our grand old home on the James and plant a new grove in the place of the sturdy old oaks cut down."