“Safe and well, praise God.”
“Amen. Praise God you are all alive.”
“But you are wounded?”
“Yes, dear; I'll be unable to use my right arm for a few months; but when it gets well we will rebuild the home which the Yankees have destroyed for us.”
“But, my dear, our home was not destroyed by the Yankees. The city was fired by our own men as they left us. The fire was raging terribly when the Yankees came in and did all they could to prevent the spread of the flames.”
“Is that so? Then I have fought for years, lost the use of my right arm and returned to find my home destroyed by order of one of our own generals. Surely, wife, the hand of God has been against the Confederacy. We were taught to believe that we were fighting for liberty, but we were mistaken. I love the stars and bars. I have fought and bled for our flag, yet I begin to feel that secession was not right. Our leaders were wrong, and it follows that we must suffer for it.”
“What shall we do, John?”
“Do? Well, the outlook is not bright, I'll admit. But we'll not get discouraged. I have a brother in Boston who has money, you know, and I believe he'll help us out. He told me not to go into the Confederate army. He said we would get whipped, but I didn't believe it then. Brother was right, and I'll send him a letter next mail.”
Then the wounded Confederate and his better half started off to meet their children at the house of a friend. I gave him the contents of my haversack and several other troopers who were with me also gave our late foe what they had with them.
“Thank you, boys; I'm glad it's over,” he said, as he handed the provisions to Pomp, who “toted” it to their friend's residence over the bridge.