"George L. Hartsuff,
"Major-General Commanding."
The note contained an official slip of paper:—
"The Quartermaster and Commissary of the Army of the Potomac are hereby ordered to furnish Mrs. Roger A. Pryor with all she may demand or require, charging the same to the private account of
"George L. Hartsuff,
"Major-General Commanding."
Without the briefest deliberation I wrote and returned the following reply:—
"Mrs. Roger A. Pryor is not insensible to the generous offer of Major-General Hartsuff, but he ought to have known that the ration allowed the destitute women of Petersburg must be enough for
"Mrs. Roger A. Pryor."
As I sat alone, revolving various schemes for our sustenance,—the selling of the precious testimonial service (given by the democracy of Virginia after my husband's noble fight against "Know-nothing-ism"), the possibility of finding occupation for myself,—the jingling of chain harness at the door arrested my attention. There stood a handsome equipage, from which a very fine lady indeed was alighting. She bustled in with her lace-edged handkerchief to her eyes, and announced herself as Mrs. Hartsuff. She was superbly gowned in violet silk and lace, with a tiny fanchon bonnet tied beneath an enormous cushion of hair behind, the first of the fashionable chignons I had seen,—an arrangement called a "waterfall," an exaggeration of the plethoric, distended "bun" of the Englishwoman of a few years ago. I found myself, all at once, conscious that I must, in this lady's eyes, resemble nothing so much as the wooden Mrs. Noah, who presides over the animals in the children's "Noah's arks." Enormous hoops were then in fashion. I had long since been abandoned by mine, and never been able to get my own consent to borrow, as others did, from a friendly grape-vine. My gown was of chocolate-colored calico with white spots. My hair! I had torn it out by the roots when I was delirious at the time of the fierce battle of Port Walthall (six miles from Petersburg), which I had heard, my senses being quickened by fever.
Mrs. Hartsuff began hurriedly: "Oh, my dear lady, we are in such distress at headquarters! George is in despair! You won't let him help you! Whatever is he to do?"
"I really am grateful to the general," I assured her; "but you see there is no reason he should do more for me than for others."