When the civil war, which snapped the cords of so many old persons’ lives and hurried them to premature graves, sounded its dread tocsin through East Tennessee, it was a source of mournful satisfaction to know that those two aged mothers lay unconscious of the approaching conflict which was to bathe that section of the State in blood. The tall grass grew unharmed, and no impious hand desecrated the resting-place of departed virtue.
During the meetings of the Legislature to which Mr. Johnson was repeatedly called, Mrs. Johnson remained at Greenville; and while he sought honors and support away from home, she found compensation for his prolonged absence in the knowledge that she best promoted his interest when she lived within their still slender means. Her children received the benefit of her ripe, matured experience, until one by one they left their home; two to marry and dwell near her, and the youngest to be a comfort in her days of suffering. Her home in Greenville was thus described in 1865: “Just down there, at the base of this hill, stands a small brick building with a back porch, and around it the necessary fixtures. It stands on the corner of the square, near where the mill-race passes under the street on its way down to the little mill. That is the first house Andrew Johnson ever owned. It now belongs to another person. Almost directly opposite the mill, whose large wheel is still moving, but whose motion is scarcely perceptible, you will see a rather humble, old-fashioned-looking, two-story brick house, standing near the south end of Main street. It has but one entrance from the street. In front of it stand three or four small shade trees. The fences of the lot and windows of the house show evident signs of dilapidation, the consequences of rebellion and of rebel rule. Like many other windows in the South, a number of panes of glass are broken out and their places supplied with paper. Glass could not be obtained in the Confederacy. As you pass along the pavement on Main street, by looking into the lot you will see several young apple trees, and in the spaces between two of them are potatoes growing. In the rear of the kitchen stands a small aspen shade-tree, and down there in the lower end of the lot is a grape-vine trained upon a trellis, forming a pleasant bower. Scattered over the lot are a number of rose, currant, and gooseberry bushes. At the lower end of the lot, and just outside, stand two large weeping willows, and under their shade is a very beautiful spring. This is the residence of Andrew Johnson, President of the United States. Up the street stands his former tailor shop, with the old sign still on it. And in an old store-room up the street are the remains of his library. At present, it consists principally of law books and public documents, most of his valuable books having been destroyed by the rebel soldiers.”
In the spring of “’61,” Mrs. Johnson spent two months in Washington with her husband, then a Senator, but failing health compelled her early return to Tennessee. Long and stormy were the seasons which passed before she again met Mr. Johnson, and how changed were all things when they resumed the broken thread of separation, after an interval of nearly two years!
At her home quietly attending to the duties of life, and cheered by the frequent visits of her children, she was startled one bright morning by the following summons:
“Head-quarters Department of East Tennessee,}
“Office Provost-Marshal, April 24th, 1862.}
“Mrs. Andrew Johnson, Greenville:
“Dear Madam:—By Major-General E. Kirby Smith I am directed to respectfully require that you and your family pass beyond the Confederate States’ line (through Nashville, if you please) in thirty-six hours from this date.
“Passports will be granted you at this office.
“Very respectfully,