In 1863 our family moved to Columbus, Georgia. It was a much larger place than Talbotton, having a population of about twelve thousand, offered more opportunities, and, too, my brother Isidor had already found employment there. With its broad main street and brick residences it looked like a great city to me.
As in Talbotton, there were no public schools in Columbus, so I was sent to a private school kept by an Irish master named Flynn, who did not act on the pedagogical principle, "Spare the rod and spoil the child." By him I was taught the three R's and began Latin. I also experienced my first stage-fright at Master Flynn's, when my turn came to speak a piece before the entire school. In all Southern schools much emphasis was placed upon elocution. I well remember practicing before a mirror and reciting under the trees in stentorian voice with dramatic gesture the great oration put into John Adams's mouth by Daniel Webster, beginning: "Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my hand and my heart to this vote."
After another year this school was discontinued and I was sent to one kept by a Dr. Dews. He was a teacher trained in the classics and far less severe than Flynn, more sympathetic and cultured. Under him I began Virgil and afterwards Horace. It was not customary to teach English grammar; we derived that from our laborious drilling in Latin grammar.
There were no public libraries, and few families, other than those of professional men, had many books. The standard assortment consisted of the Bible, Josephus, Burns; some had Shakespeare's works. I do not recall at this period reading any book outside of those we had for study at school. Boys of my age led an outdoor life, indulging in seasonable sports which rotated from top-spinning to marbles, to ball-playing, principally a game called town-ball. We all had shot-guns, so that in season and out we went bird-hunting and rabbit-hunting.
We went barefooted nine months of the year, both for comfort and economy. As in Talbotton we lived most economically. We were not poor in the sense of being needy; we never felt in any way dependent. Our home was comfortable, wholesome, full of sunshine and good cheer, and always hospitable to friends. Our wants were few and simple, so we had plenty, and I felt as independent as any child of the rich.
We were now in the midst of the Civil War, and money, measured in gold, was worth about five cents per dollar. My brother Nathan seemed to be affected by this into constant scheming for making pocket money. He was fifteen years old, and out of school hours helped father in the store; but he seemed to be in need of more pin-money. He finally hit on a plan that proved quite lucrative. He collected or bought up pieces of hemp rope and sold them to a manufacturer. Hemp was very scarce and much needed. With the proceeds he bought a beautiful bay pony, which he and I prized more than any possession we have ever had, before or since.
On the 16th of April, 1865, after a feeble skirmish on the part of the citizen soldiers, mainly superannuated men and schoolboys, Columbus was captured by General James H. Wilson at the head of a cavalry corps of fifteen thousand men. The war had practically ended seven days before, as Lee surrendered on the 9th at Appomattox Court House in Virginia; but as telegraph and railroad communication had been disrupted, this fact was not yet known in our part of Georgia. As soon as Wilson's army took possession of our debilitated city general confusion reigned. Looting began by the town rabble, led by several drunken Federal soldiers; cotton warehouses were burned, the contents of which represented the savings of many, including most of my father's; all horses were seized, and among them our little pony, which I never saw again, though I still retain a vivid picture of him in my mind's eye. Frequently since, when I have met that fine and accomplished old veteran, General Wilson, who is still among the living, hale and hearty, I have jestingly reproached him for taking from me the most treasured possession I ever had.
This incident and others served to give me a most vivid impression of the closing years of the Civil War. Another very vivid impression that occurred shortly before the beginning of the war clings to my memory. Robert Toombs, one of Georgia's most conspicuous United States Senators, was making a speech at the Masonic Temple in Columbus, Georgia. It was a hot summer day. Toombs was a short, thick, heavy-set man of the Websterian type, and one of the South's most picturesque orators. After the election of Lincoln, however, Toombs advocated secession and resigned from the Senate, was talked of for the Confederate presidency, did become Confederate Secretary of State, and was later commissioned a brigadier-general, and commanded with distinction in numerous battles of the Civil War. During the speech I heard him make, he drew a large white handkerchief from his pocket with a flourish, and pausing before mopping his perspiring forehead, he exclaimed: