On the 13th of August, 1862, McClellan abandoned his camp at Harrison's Landing and retired to Fortress Monroe. General Lee withdrew all his troops from Richmond but two companies of infantry left behind to protect the city in case of cavalry raids. General Jackson joined General Lee, and the battle known as the second Manassas was fought. Wilcox, Pryor, and Featherstone were again to the front, and at one time when the desperate struggle of this hard-fought battle was at its height, and the situation augured adversely to the Southern troops, it was General Pryor's privilege to suggest that several batteries should be rushed to an advantageous position and a raking fire be opened upon the enemy's flank which nothing could withstand. Within fifteen minutes the aspect of the field was changed. On the plateau occupied by the Federals stood the Henry house, celebrated in all history as the spot where Jackson's Brigade, "standing like a stone wall," had, a year before, earned the name for their commander which has become immortal.
I think it was early in September, 1862, that General Lee announced to President Davis that he proposed entering Maryland with his army. Before he could receive an answer the Southerners were crossing the Potomac singing "Maryland, my Maryland," and in a few days Jackson reached Frederick. "My Maryland" was earnestly invited and positively declined to rid her "shores" of "the despot's heel." The despot's hand could pay in good greenbacks for her wheat and flour and cattle, while these new fellows had only Confederate money. The governor and leading professional men were all loyal to the Union. The farmers drove their herds into Pennsylvania, and in the mills the sound of the grinding was not low—it ceased altogether. The Confederates might defeat Pope and McClellan in the battle-field; the farmer proved himself master of the situation in the wheat-field.
My general was in Frederick with his brigade, and incidentally saw and heard nothing of the touching occurrence commemorated by Whittier. The Quaker poet was a romancer! I use no harsher term. I am perfectly willing Barbara Frietchie's "old gray head" should forever wear the crown he placed upon it, but I cannot brook "the blush of shame" over Stonewall Jackson's face. Blush he often did,—for he was as delicate as a woman,—but blush for shame, never! Rhodes says: "His riding through the streets gave an occasion to forge the story of Barbara Frietchie. It is a token of the intense emotion which clouds our judgment of the enemy in arms. Although Stonewall Jackson, not long before, was eager to raise the black flag, he was incapable of giving the order to fire at the window of a private house for the sole reason that there 'the old flag met his sight,' and it is equally impossible that a remark of old Dame Barbara, 'Spare your country's flag,' could have brought 'a blush of shame' to his cheek. Jackson was not of the cavalier order, but he had a religious and chivalrous respect for women." He goes on to state that a woman, not Barbara Frietchie, waved a flag as Jackson passed to which he paid no attention. Also, that when he had passed through Middletown, two pretty girls had waved Union flags in his face. "He bowed and raised his hat, and turning with his quiet smile to his staff, said: 'We evidently have no friends in this town.'"
On September 15 the battle-line, with my husband's division (Longstreet's), was drawn up in front of Sharpsburg (or Antietam), and again Pryor, Wilcox, and Featherstone were well to the front. My husband commanded Anderson's division at Antietam, General Anderson having been wounded. This battle is quoted, along with the battle of Seven Pines, as one of the most hotly contested of the war. Sorely pressed at one time, General Pryor despatched an orderly to General Longstreet with a request for artillery. The latter tore the margin from a newspaper and wrote: "I am sending you the guns, dear General. This is a hard fight, and we had better all die than lose it." At one time during the battle the combatants agreed upon a brief cessation, that the dead and wounded of both sides might be removed. While General Pryor waited, a Federal officer approached him.
"General," said he, "I have just detected one of my men in robbing the body of one of your soldiers. I have taken his booty from him, and now consign it to you."
Without examining the small bundle—tied in a handkerchief—my husband ordered it to be properly enclosed and sent to me. The handkerchief contained a gold watch, a pair of gold sleeve-links, a few pieces of silver, and a strip of paper on which was written, "Strike till the last armed foe expires," and signed "A Florida Patriot." There seemed to be no clew by which I might hope to find an inheritor for these treasures. I could only take care of them.
I brought them forth one day to interest an aged relative, whose chair was placed in a sunny window. "I think, my dear," she said, "there are pin-scratched letters on the inside of these sleeve-buttons." Sure enough, there were three initials, rudely made, but perfectly plain.
Long afterward I met a Confederate officer from Florida who had fought at Antietam.
"Did you know any one from your state, Captain, who was killed at Sharpsburg?"
"Alas! yes," he replied, and mentioned a name corresponding exactly with the scratched initials.