We were fighting hard at home to keep the upper hand of the difficulties which hedged us in; we were working and fasting and praying that victory might reward all our sacrifices and sufferings, yet day by day the newspapers brought news of defeat after defeat; day by day they told us of the inexorable advance of the Federal troops; day by day the conviction strengthened with us that, struggle as we would, we were on the losing side, and ours was to go down to history as “the lost cause.” Our soldiers were living on parched corn, as they had been for a year; they were going into battle ragged and barefoot and half-starved—in vain.
What a fearful day it was for us, when, in April, 1865, word came into our placid valley that the Northern army was almost at our doors! I could not begin to describe our chagrin and terror. In life one is likely to remember always the exact circumstances under which the first shock of bad news was received. I know that the first tidings of the approach of the Yankee forces came to me as I was about to open the gate leading out on to the public road from Mr. G——’s homestead. I was on my way to the school, when a man rode up, and halting an instant said, “General Grierson and his army are marching from Mobile to Eufaula, and they will probably reach Eufaula to-night, or early to-morrow morning!”
As Mr. G—— lived near the main highway, he did not expect to escape the invading army. Now, it seemed, we were to be awakened from the even tenor of our way, perhaps to know another meaning for “hard times.” Fear was depicted on every face, for who could tell but that the morrow’s sun would cast its beams upon a heap of smoking ruins, and we be bereft of all the property we had.
Teaching school was not to be thought of until our suspense was over. The blue heavens, so vast and serene, seemed no longer to clasp, mildly and lovingly, our quiet home in all-embracing arms, nor to smile upon us in peace and love. “Now,” thought we, “we shall realize in part, perhaps fully, what ‘Old Virginia’ and the Border States have passed through for four years, while with us, in the blockaded interior, all has been so quiet and undisturbed.”
How vividly I remember that day of suspense, as the courier heralded from house to house his unwelcome message, “The Yankees are coming!” The explosion of a bomb in each one’s yard could not have created greater excitement. Planters hastily fled to the swamps and the deep, unfrequented woods, with their stock and valuables. At intervals throughout the day, droves of cattle and hogs were driven past my employer’s residence to hiding-places in the woods; and wagons and carriages, filled with whatever valuables could be quickly gotten together, were also passing by.
It was amusing, as well as sad, to see a feather-bed protruding at least a quarter of its length from a carriage window. In our great anxiety, appearances were not regarded. The single thought of the people was to protect themselves and their property as expeditiously and securely as possible. In the mean time we were confused and distracted by conflicting rumors. At one time the report would be, “The army is not a mile off;” then we imagined we heard guns firing. Again it would be, “They are not coming this way at all.” Then, “They are only half a mile off,” and we were sure we saw the smoke from some burning dwelling or gin-house.
It was a day of unceasing flurry and excitement, and as the lengthening shadows gave warning that night was drawing on, with troubled feelings we looked from face to face, for no one was left to meet the Federal army, should it pass by on our road, save women and children and the negro slaves. Mr. G—— was in a deep swamp, about half a mile from his dwelling, with all the stock and what was most valuable. His presence with us would have done no good, for if the enemy had come, he might have been hung before our eyes; or he might have been tortured to make him tell where his gold and silver were hidden. Men were so treated in many instances.
There were some comical places thought of in which to hide gold, silver, jewelry, and other valuables. A lady of our settlement wrapped her watch and chain, bracelets, and a valuable breast-pin, together with some other jewelry, in an old faded rag, and tossed it into the middle of a large rose-bush in her front yard. There it remained secure, although the house and yard were filled with Yankee soldiers, who searched the house, turning up beds and mattresses, pulling the clothing out of the wardrobe and bureaus; and yet that rose-bush kept its secret.
Another young woman took her father’s bag of gold and silver, and ran to the hen-house and put it beneath the nest of a setting hen. An old lady put all her jewelry in a small jar, cemented the top tightly on, placed it in an old bucket, and let it down into her well. When all things had settled down quietly, and it was safe to draw the jar from the well, nothing was found to be soiled or injured in the least. Another filled an old ash-hopper with bacon, covered it with a cloth, put ashes over that about half a foot deep, then with straw built a hen’s nest or two, and placed some eggs in them; and of course the Yankee soldiers cared nothing for that insignificant ash-hopper and its hen’s nest.
As darkness closed in, we sat with folded hands and bated breath, listening for the tramp of the mighty Northern host, with the unexpressed thought, “Woe is me, that I sojourn in Mesech, that I dwell in the tents of Kedar!” In the midst of silent reveries around the fire, for the night was chill, and a fire had been kindled, in part to dispel the gloom and dread of our feelings, one of the daughters turned to her cousin and said, “Annie, what will you do if the Yankees come?” “Ooo-oo-o!” with hands upraised, was the reply. Then cousin Annie turned to her cousin, after a long pause, and asked, “Marie, what will you do if they come?” “Umph-mph-ph,” with eyes dilated, was Marie’s reply. Never a word was spoken save that question, followed by an inarticulate exclamation. Finally it seemed so ludicrous that we all broke forth into merry peals of laughter, which served as a safety-valve to our genuine depression.