My mother was the first to become calm, and she came very near me and said, as if afraid to trust her voice:
“Wouldn’t it be well to ask Eliza Williams and others to come and ‘lay him out?’”
Before acting on this suggestion I went into another room and waked Telitha and took her into the chamber of death. A dim and glimmering light prevented her from taking in the full import of the scene at first; but I took her near the couch, and, pointing to him, I said:
“Dead!—Dead!”
She repeated interrogatively, and, when she fully realized that such was the case, her cries were pitiable, oh, so pitiable.
I sank down upon the floor and waited for the paroxysm of grief to subside, and then went to her and made her understand that I was going out and that she must stay with her mistress until I returned. An hour later, under the manipulation of good “Eliza Williams”—known throughout Decatur as Mrs. Ammi Williams’ faithful servant—and one or two others whom she brought with her, Toby was robed in a nice white suit of clothes prepared for the occasion by the faithful hands of his “Miss Polly,” whom he had loved well and who had cared for him in his orphanage.
We had had intimation that the Federals would again occupy Decatur, and as soon as day dawned I went to see Mr. Robert Jones, Sen., and got him to make a coffin for Toby, and I then asked “Uncle Mack,” and “Henry”—now known as Decatur’s Henry Oliver—to dig the grave. Indeed, these two men agreed to attend to the matter of his burial. After consultation with my mother, it was agreed that that should take place as soon as all things were in readiness. Mr. Jones made a pretty, well-shaped coffin out of good heart pine, and the two faithful negro men already mentioned prepared with care the grave. When all was in readiness, the dead boy was placed in the coffin and borne to the grave by very gentle hands.
Next to the pall-bearers my mother and myself and Telitha fell in line, and then followed the few negroes yet remaining in the town, and that funeral cortege was complete.
At the grave an unexpected and most welcome stranger appeared. “Uncle Mack” told me he was a minister, and would perform the funeral service—and grandly did he do it. The very soul of prayer seemed embodied in this negro preacher’s invocation; nor did he forget Toby’s “nurses,” and every consolation and blessing was besought for them. And thus our Toby received a Christian burial.