This ceremony having been performed to my satisfaction and to his, too—judging by the complacent glances, and, as I fancied, by the suggestion of an approving smile which he bestowed upon me—I mounted the hub, stepped into the cart, seated myself, and with ropes in hand continued my way to “The Circle,” and arrived there before night, Not being tired, I immediately struck out among the vendors of home-made products—edibles, wearing apparel, etc.—for the purpose of purchasing a wagon load to carry to Decatur, not for the ignoble purpose of speculation, but to bestow, without money and without price, upon those who, like my mother and myself, preferred hunger and privation rather than give up our last earthly home to the destroying fiend that stalked over our land and protected Federal bayonets.
Before the shades of night came on I had accomplished my object. As a matter of history I will enumerate some of the articles purchased, and annex the prices paid for them in Confederate money:
| One bushel of meal | $10 00 | |
| Four bushels of corn | 40 00 | |
| Fifteen pounds of flour | 7 50 | |
| Four pounds dried apples | 5 00 | |
| One and half pounds of butter | 6 00 | |
| A bushel of sweet potatoes | 6 00 | |
| Three gallons of syrup | 15 00 | |
| Shoeing the horse | 25 00 | |
| For spending the night at Mrs. Born’s, self and horse | 10 00 |
Not knowing the capabilities of “Johnny Reb,” I feared to add one hundred and thirty-six pounds avoirdupois weight to a cart already loaded to repletion, and the next morning on starting took my old familiar place by his side. To my slightest touch or word of encouragement, he gave me an appreciative look and obeyed to the letter my wishes with regard to his gaits—slow or fast in adaptation to mine. In due time we again rested on the banks of the beautiful little stream hallowed by the memory of repudiating a name, rendered by the vandalism of its legitimate owners too obnoxious to be borne by a noble horse, and by the bestowing upon him of another more in keeping with his respect for ladies and other fine traits of character which he possessed. Neither he nor I had lunch with which to regale ourselves; and whilst he moved about at will cropping little tufts of wild growth and tender leaves, which instinct taught him were good for his species, I abandoned myself to my favorite pursuit—the contemplation of nature. Like Aurora Leigh, I “found books among the hills and vales, and running brooks,” and held communion with their varied forms and invisible influences. To me they ever spoke of the incomprehensible wisdom and goodness of God. My heart, from my earliest recollection, always went out in adoration to Him who could make alike the grand old Titans of the forest and the humblest blade of grass; and now I beheld them under circumstances peculiarly calculated to evoke admiration. Change had come to everything else. The lofty trees stood in silent grandeur, undisturbed by the enemy’s step or the harsh clarion of war—as if defiant of danger—and gave shelter and repose to the humblest of God’s creatures who sought their protecting arms. Beguiled by the loveliness of the woodland scenery, I often found myself stopping to daguerreotype it upon the tablets of my memory, and to feast my senses upon the aromatic perfume of wildwood autumn flowers. “Strong words of counseling” I found in them and in “the vocal pines and waters,” and out of these books I learned the “ignorance of men.”
“And how God laughs in Heaven when any man
Says, ‘Here I’m learned; this I understand;
In that I am never caught at fault, or in doubt.’”
A word of friendly greeting and renewed thanks to mine hostess of two nights before, and her dear little children, detained me only a very short and unbegrudged space of time; and during that time I did not forget to refer to the potatoes and the pumpkin so kindly given to me by them on my down trip, and which I could have left in their care until my return, had I thought of it.
Night again came on, and this time found me picking my way as best I could over the rocks shadowed by Stone Mountain. On I plodded through the darkness, guided rather by the unerring step of Johnny Reb than any knowledge I had of the way. At length the poor faithful animal and myself were rewarded for perseverance by seeing glimmering lights of the mountain village. We struck a bee line for the nearest one, and were soon directed to “a boarding house.” I was too glad to get into it then, to descant upon its demerits now. I assured the landlady that I needed no supper myself, and would pay her what she would charge for both if she would see that the horse was well fed. I think she did so. My valuable freight could not remain in the cart all night, and there was no one to bring it in. In vain did she assure me that I would find it all right if I left it there. I got into the cart and lifted the sacks and other things out of it myself, and, by the help of the aforesaid person, got everything into the house. I fain would have lain down by these treasures, for they had increased in value beyond computation since leaving Social Circle, and would have done so but for repeated assurance of their safety.
An early start next morning gave me the privilege of going over the ground familiar to my youth in the loveliest part of the day, and when the sun looked at me over the mountain’s crest, I felt as if I was in the presence of a veritable king, and wanted to take my bonnet off and make obeisance to him. His beneficent rays fell alike upon the just and the unjust, and lighted the pathway of the destroyer as brightly as that of the benefactor. Amid destruction, wanton and complete, and over which angels might weep, I stepped the distance off between Stone Mountain and Judge Bryce’s; not a living thing upon the face of the earth, or a sound of any kind greeting me—the desolation of war reigned supreme. I again stopped at Judge Bryce’s, and implored his protection to Decatur, but, as on the former occasion, he was afraid to leave his wife to the tender mercy (?) of the enemy. He told me he feared I would not reach home with my cart of edibles, as “Yankee raiders had been coming out from Atlanta every day lately,” and that the set that was now coming was more vindictive than any that had preceded it. Good, dear Mrs. Bryce, trusting in the Lord for future supplies, took a little from her scanty store of provisions and added it to mine for her friend, my mother.
With many forebodings of evil, I took up the line of march to Decatur. I looked almost with regret upon my pretty horse. Had he remained the poor ugly animal that was lassoed in the cane-brake, I would have had but little fear of losing him, but under my fostering care, having become pretty, plump and sprightly, I had but little hope of keeping him. Being absorbed by these mournful reflections and not having the ever-watchful Telitha with me to announce danger from afar, I was brought to a full realization of its proximity by what appeared to be almost an army of blue-coats, dashing up on spirited horses, and for the purpose of humiliating me, hurrahing “for Jefferson Davis and the Southern Confederacy.” As a flag of truce, I frantically waved my bonnet, which act was misapprehended and taken as a signal of approval of their “hurrah for Jefferson Davis and the Southern Confederacy,” which was resounding without intermission.
Seeing several very quiet, dignified looking gentlemen, who, although apart from the others, seemed to be exercising a restraining influence, I approached them and told them how I had gone out from Decatur unprotected and all alone to get provisions to keep starvation from among our defenseless women and children, and that I had to go all the way to Social Circle before I could get anything, and that I had walked back in order to save the horse as much as possible. These men, however, although seemingly interested, questioned and cross-questioned me until I had but little hope of their protection. One of them said, “I see you have one of our horses. How did you come by him?” And then the story of how I came by him was recapitulated without exaggeration or diminution. This narrative elicited renewed hurrahs for Jefferson Davis and the Southern Confederacy. A few minutes private conversation between these gentlemen ensued, and all of them approached me, and the spokesman said, “Two of us will escort you to Decatur, and see that no harm befalls you.” It seemed, then, that no greater boon could have been offered under the canopy of Heaven, and I am sure no woman could have experienced more gratitude or been more profuse in its expression.