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MRS. JESSE MERCER BATTLE 
 (Laura Elizabeth Lee) 
 
FORGET-ME-NOTS OF 
 THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 A ROMANCE, 
 
 CONTAINING REMINISCENCES AND ORIGINAL LETTERS 
 
 OF TWO CONFEDERATE SOLDIERS. 
 
 BY 
 
 LAURA ELIZABETH LEE 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY 
 BRYAN BURNES 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 ST. LOUIS. MO. 
 PRESS A. R. FLEMING PRINTING 
 
< 
 
 COPYRIGHT 1909 
 
 By 
 
 MRS. JESSE MERCER BATTLE 
 
 .'BRARYof CO.NGRESS| 
 Two Cocies Received 
 
 JUN 16 ISOJ^ 
 
 Copyntnt £ntr> 
 
 
 /.Xc 
 
TO JESSE. THE HUSBAND. 
 
 WHO IS STILL MY BOY LOVER. 
 
 TO HELEN, THE DUTIFUL DAUGHTER. 
 
 WHO HAS BEEN THE LINK TO WELD MORE 
 
 CLOSELY OUR LOVE, 
 
 AND WHOSE LIVES I HAVE WANTED 
 
 TO FILL WITH SUNSHINE. 
 
 BUT WHERE THE SHADOWS HAVE OFTEN CREPT. 
 
 THIS VOLUME IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED. 
 
 MAY ITS PAGES BE ILLUMINATED BY THEIR 
 
 LOVE AND INSPIRATION. 
 
 LAURA ELIZABETH LEE. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. My Arrival at '* White Oaks'' . . 9 
 
 II. Some of the Things That Happened 17 
 
 HI; Our Removal to Clayton .... 23 
 
 IV. The Attempt to ^'Tar and Feather" 
 
 My Father 29 
 
 V. The Year Eighteen Sixty-one . . 33 
 
 VI. The Gallant Fourth N. C. Regiment, 
 
 State Troops 37 
 
 VII. I^etters from George and Walter . 41 
 
 VIII. My First School Days .... 135 
 
 IX. My Father's Death and Burial . . 139 
 
 X. How the Sheriff Swindled My 
 
 Mother 147 
 
 XI. The Work We All Did During the 
 
 War 155 
 
 XII. Sherman's March to Raleigh, North 
 
 Carolina * . 159 
 
 XIII. The ^<Bummers"and'<Red Strings" 165 
 
 XIV. The *'KuKluxKlan" .... 171 
 
6 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CHAPTBR 
 
 XV. How I First Met "Uncle Ned" . 177 
 
 XVI. The Beautiful Pink Frock ... 191 
 
 XVII. My First Great Sacrifice .... 199 
 
 XVIII. The State Tournament .... 207 
 
 XIX. The Great Race 217 
 
 XX. The Crowning of Nealie For Queen 229 
 
 XXI. The Coronation Ball 235 
 
 XXII. The Marriage of Ashley and Nealie 241 
 
 XXIII. The Conquering Hero Comes . . 247 
 
 XXIV. The Baptizing at Stallings Mill . 255 
 XXV. The Meeting at the Well . . . 261 
 
 XXVI. Jesse Falls in I^ove at First Sight . 265 
 
 XXVII. I Am Not Far Behind .... 271 
 
 XXVIII. His Departure and My Grief . . 275 
 
 XXIX. Hear Rumor of Engagement to 
 
 Another Girl 281 
 
 XXX. I Am Very Unhappy ..... 285 
 
 XXXI. Our Engagement 291 
 
 XXXII. One Evening's Entertainment . . 299 
 
 XXXIII. How My Mother Disposed of Us . 335 
 
 XXXIV. Jesse's Enforced Absence . . . 341 
 XXXV. My Mother Makes Us Happy at I,ast 351 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 Mrs. Jesse Mercer Battle (Laura Elizabeth Lee) Fro7itispiece 
 
 FACING 
 PAGK 
 
 < 'Aunt Pallas.'' 10 
 
 George 42 
 
 Walter 133 
 
 ''General Sherman halted and asked in a kind- 
 ly voice whether she had husband or sons 
 in the war." 160 
 
 "Uncle Ned.'' 178 
 
 Nealie and the Pink Frock 192 
 
 "Uncle Ned's" Return 195 
 
 "Dropped the wreath at my sister's feet." . 236 
 
 "Give the horses the reins, Henderson, and 
 
 let them go the road they will." . . .248 
 
 "Until death do us part." 352 
 
"The dainty architects of prose and rhyme 
 
 Have their brief niches in the Hall of Time; 
 But he is master of the deathless pen, 
 Whose words are written in the lives of men." 
 
 — ^William H. Hayne. 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 My Arrival at "Whit^ Oaks/' 
 
 On the twenty-sixth day of January, eighteen fifty- 
 five, I first saw the Hght. The day was cold and 
 raw, with snow flurries now and then filling the air. 
 
 It is not to be wondered at that my arrival was not 
 more warmly welcomed, as it was the most unusual 
 thing for snow to fall in that warm southern climate. 
 Being the youngest of eleven children, also made the 
 advent of another girl baby a source of indifference 
 to the inmates of *'White Oaks," the name by which 
 our place was known. 
 
 The children were assembled for their noonday 
 meal on this eventful day in the dining room where 
 they were discussing the new baby and attempting the 
 difficult task of finding a name, one that was not 
 already in the family Bible or had not been in use in 
 the family generations before. After many names had 
 been rejected and scorned as unfit, Nealie cried out 
 *'0h, let's name the baby Bettie!" The boys not caring 
 one way or the other acquiesced immediately, but Flora 
 implored them "No, no, not Bettie, call her Laura." 
 While Rilia, then fourteen, and feeling quite motherly 
 to all, declared they should compromise and call me 
 'Xaura Bettie," which suggestion quite satisfied them 
 
 9 
 
10 FORGKT-ME-NOTS 01^ THE CIVIIv WAR. 
 
 all, both boys and girls. Rilia was then deputized 
 to visit the nurse, Aunt Pallas, and beg that this name 
 be submitted to my mother, as pleasing all the child- 
 ren. She soon returned with the glad tidings that 
 "Laura Bettie" would be enrolled in the old family 
 Bible, which was well nigh filled, as "Laura Eliza- 
 beth," that being more suitable for me in later years, 
 but she said "Lookee heah, chillun, you can call dat 
 baby poah little ugly thing 'Bettie' or 'Laura,' but FU 
 do her laik I did Tussie' (her pet name for Cornelia), 
 Fm a' gwine to call her Betsy." So it was settled by 
 them, and from then on I was called by each of those 
 names as each member of the family or friend hap- 
 pened to think of first. 
 
 Aunt Pallas, whom you will meet throughout the 
 pages of this book, was a typical African in color, 
 though her head was larger than the average negro, 
 with the kinky hair growing low on her forehead, her 
 eyes were very small, but lighted up by intelli- 
 gence. Her nose was large and flat, and most decidedly 
 gave the appearance of a full-blooded native of Africa. 
 Her mouth was large, with full lips even adding to 
 her homeliness. Her shoulders were square, the 
 body and hips with straight lines like a man's. Her 
 limbs were muscular and her stature, though short, was 
 as erect as a young Indian's. She claimed that she 
 made herself so by carrying pails of water on her head 
 when she was a child. 
 
 "I declare before goodness," she used to say, "that 
 Col. Johnnie Hinton bought my mammy from some 
 niggah traders, dat told him mammy was a guinea nig- 
 
Aunt Pallas.''' 
 
MY ARRIVAIy AT 'VhITE: OAKS/' U 
 
 gah and b'longed to de quality, an dats why she called 
 me Pallas — day shore did get my name out of the 
 dicshummary." Her homeliness was so marked that 
 it really helped to make her attractive. Her age, like 
 every other one of her race, was a problem we never 
 could guess, except from bits of history that she would 
 tell us. She remembered when George Washington 
 died, and many incidents of the Revolutionary war. 
 
 Our large family lived on the farm called "White 
 Oaks," near a small town called Clayton. The land 
 my father planted in grain at that time, and as the 
 soil was later found suitable for cotton he and the 
 boys had hard times "making both ends meet." Two 
 of the older boys had married, leaving the burden on 
 him and the younger sons. He was well advanced 
 in years at this time. My father was a typical South- 
 ern gentleman, with a courtly dignified bearing, and 
 was well educated for the times. He was a descend- 
 ant from that illustrious Virginia family whose lives 
 have been recorded on the pages of American history 
 since the Colony of Virginia first had a Secretary of 
 State, and before his marriage had taught school in 
 the town near his present home. It was there that he 
 met and married the daughter of a wealthy planter 
 and a large slave owner. Being an ardent abolitionist 
 he refused the gift of a young negro man and his 
 wife on his marriage to Candace Hinton. This re- 
 fusal, coupled with his outspoken convictions never to 
 own slaves, made him a target for the slave owners 
 in that section. It is true that "Aunt Pallas" was 
 a maid for his first wife, and was so devoted to her 
 
12 ifORGE^T-M^-NOTS O^ TUt ClWIh WAR. 
 
 that she was no more a slave than the wife, and was 
 permitted to do exactly as she pleased. When the 
 rumor spread abroad that Charles Lee was a rank 
 abolitionist there were already war clouds that bid 
 fair to darken the whole fair South-land ; his father-in- 
 law, Col. John Hinton, forbade him ever "darkening 
 his doors.'* Whether the estrangement had anything 
 to do with a decline in her health, the wife soon sick- 
 ened and died, leaving behind her seven children, all 
 except two greatly in need of a mother's love and 
 tender care. 
 
 My father soon began casting about to find some one 
 who would be a mother to his babies. He had known 
 my mother as an acquaintance a few years, and his 
 wife always spoke so kindly of her and her great 
 beauty — that may have helped him to turn his foot- 
 steps toward her home. My mother, also named Can- 
 dace Hawkins Turley, was a woman remarkably beau- 
 tiful, but whose family was obscure, excepting her 
 grandfather, Thomas Turley, who was a Revolution- 
 ary soldier when the war for American Independence 
 began; he enlisted on the patriot side, and served 
 from the beginning of the Revolution to the siege of 
 Yorktown, at which place he was made an invalid for 
 life by the bursting of a British bomb shell near his 
 head. The story of his abduction when a baby, as 
 handed down, made interesting family history; he 
 was born in Ireland, and belonged to the Irish nobility. 
 As was the custom in such families, the children were 
 entrusted to white nurses, who became strongly at- 
 tached to their charges. Thomas Turley's nurse hav- 
 
MY ARRIVAIv AT ''WHiTE OAKS/'' 13 
 
 ing decided to emigrate to America, could not endure 
 the separation, and he was stolen by this woman and 
 reared by her in America. 
 
 This child never knew the secret of his life until 
 divulged by his old nurse on her deathbed. It was 
 said that he did not know his own name, as this woman 
 so much feared that her guilt might be known and 
 the child restored to his seeking parents. 
 
 It is not strange that my mother's family was ob- 
 scure with such a bit of family history. My father 
 must have had in mind, to avoid another estrangement 
 if he should attempt to marry again, another slave 
 owner's daughter. That my mother married him for 
 love goes without saying. My father then being over 
 sixty years old, had that to his disadvantage, though 
 his genial, kind nature, together with his scholarly 
 attainments and his descent from an old Virginia fam- 
 ily, no doubt added to his other attractions, and caused 
 my mother to hasten to be the wife of a widower, 
 now growing old, whose sole wealth was a ready- 
 made family, excepting, of course, the farm of "White 
 Oaks." It was even whispered then that he had con- 
 sumption and would not live five years longer. 
 
 My mother was a woman so strikingly handsome 
 that I shall not attempt more than a few words of 
 description. She was an Irish type of beauty, above 
 the medium height, with beautiful wavy brown hair, 
 a broad low brow, a classical Grecian nose; her eyes 
 of grey, were large and seemed unfathomable; her 
 mouth a perfect cupid bow, and ruby lips through 
 which shone pearl-like teeth, an oval face, with perfect 
 
14 l^ORGET-ME-NOTS 01^ THE CIVIL WAR. 
 
 chin and ears, moulded on a neck of alabaster white- 
 ness; her pink cheeks glowed with health, her com- 
 plexion was marvellously fair, and the blue veins 
 showed their delicate tracery beneath a skin of pol- 
 ished smoothness. A Madonna like face was mv 
 mother's. There was nothing insipid in my mother's 
 beauty; it was a beauty of strength of mind, that 
 shone out on her noble mien, whether the tradition 
 in regard to her descent from the Irish nobility were 
 true or not, hers was a face of such uncommon beauty 
 that obscure birth could not hide the breeding and 
 noble race from which she sprang. Her very carriage 
 bespoke grace and dignity, with a firmness of purpose 
 that once she had taken hold of the plowshare, it would 
 take nothing less than victory to cause her to drop 
 it. Still there was nothing obstinate in her appearance, 
 only a resolute face and figure that radiated a beau- 
 tiful character in every suggestion. 
 
For, lo! my love doth in herself contain 
 
 All this world's riches that may be found; 
 If sapphires, lo! her eyes he sapphires plain; 
 
 If rubies, lo! her lips be rubies sound; 
 If pearls, her teeth be pearls, both pure and round; 
 
 If ivory, her forehead ivory ween; 
 If gold, her locks are finest gold on ground; 
 
 But that which fairest is, but few behold. 
 Her mind, adorned with virtues manifold. 
 
 — Edmund Spenseb. 
 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 Some 01? THE Things That Happened. 
 
 Well, somehow, widowers are more expeditious in 
 such matters, and after a very short courtship they 
 were married, and Candace Hawkins Turley went to 
 be mother and mistress of "White Oaks." 
 
 The time passed rapidly, filled with work and many 
 cares, and in five years she was the mother of four 
 children, three girls, one of whom died, and one boy. 
 
 They continued to live on the farm, though father 
 had no turn for farming ; the poor land and the large 
 family made work enough for all, and a slave of my 
 mother. The older children were sometimes required 
 to look after me and their manner of amusing me 
 was at times very peculiar. I was told that on one 
 occasion when I was about ten months old father 
 took mother to church, at "Old Liberty," five miles 
 distant, Rilia, my half sister, and Nealie, the old- 
 est of my mother's children, took me out to the barn 
 where a pile of raw cotton had been thrown, reach- 
 ing up to the ceiling. These sisters of mine, wishing 
 to stop my cries for my mother, began to toss me up 
 on the pile of cotton and let me roll down to the floor 
 where they were carefully stationed to catch me. It 
 gave me great delight, and I set up such crowing 
 
 17 
 
18 I^ORGET-ME-NOTS OF THE CIVIL WAR. 
 
 and laughing that it gave such zest to the pastime 
 that I began to laugh and crow louder. I suspect 
 now that my brains were being well addled, but any 
 way the more I laughed, the more I was kept tobog- 
 ganing until in a careless way Rilia threw me up and 
 I went clear over the top of the pile of cotton, rolled 
 down and struck a beam on the other side. Immedi- 
 ately I set up such a scream that with great alarm they 
 carried me back to the house where Aunt Pallas dis- 
 covered a sprained wrist and a dislocated shoulder. 
 It took hours in those days to drive five miles to church 
 and return, so my cries well night drove my poor 
 sisters wild, until my father returned and set the 
 bones. My poor mother declared it happened just 
 because she left me at home, and did not intend to 
 ever do so again. Still she and father were good 
 Baptists and could not resist the monthly meetings, 
 at "Old Liberty" Church, and there were many other 
 times when I was left behind. 
 
 On another occasion the older children had me 
 in charge again, and decided upon another novel 
 way of amusing me. We were all playing in 
 a large room with a big high white bed in 
 it, Nealie, after while, said : "Suppose we 
 amuse Bettie by making pictures for her," 
 then turning to me, she asked : "Wouldn't you like for 
 sisters to make some pretty pictures for baby to look 
 at?" I smiled and cried "Yes," whereupon the two 
 held a whispered conversation and immediately they 
 made a dash for the fire place, and placing their little 
 white hands on the back of the fire place that was all 
 
some: 01^ THE THINGS THAT HAPPENED. 19 
 
 covered in soot, fan to the bed and began laying their 
 hands on the pretty white counterpane trying to 
 draw pictures of dogs and people. I was the audience 
 and had a seat in the rear of the room, but not wish- 
 ing to sit there, while such works of art were being 
 placed before me, I up and toddled over to the bed 
 and began to investigate. Imagine my consternation 
 on seeing my sisters begin to turn black before my 
 eyes, so I thought I'd rub the black off them, when 
 lo, I began to turn black too. Well, in a short time 
 the whole bunch of us were black and weird-looking. 
 I was so frightened I could hardly speak when the 
 door opened and father and my mother came in, and 
 I think the rod was not spared, on seeing the snow 
 white counterpane, covered in grotesque pictures and 
 little finger prints, even the walls were decorated to 
 suit the taste of the embryonic artists. 
 
 My first recollections of going to church at "Old 
 Liberty" were of being dressed up and riding with 
 father and mother in the barouche till we came to a 
 deserted looking house, standing by itself in a big 
 grove of trees. Then my mother led me around to the 
 side of this house where a great many ladies and 
 children were sitting down on a bench. After a while 
 the door was unlocked and we all went inside. The 
 men all sat to themselves on one side and the women 
 and children sat on the other side of the room. Then 
 they all began to sing such a sleepy song, I dozed off, 
 but dreamily heard a man talking, and once in a while 
 he would shout so loud I'd awaken with a start, to 
 drop off to sleep again, my head resting on my mother's 
 
20 :^ORGET-ME-NOTS O^ THE CIVIL WAR. 
 
 lap. I awoke after a long time and saw a man hand- 
 ing a plate to everybody, to take something to eat, 
 Oh ! how glad I felt, but when my mother broke only 
 one tiny bite and then ate that, without even looking 
 at me, I was getting ready to weep, but when another 
 man came up with a silver goblet and she took a drink 
 and didn't look at me again, I gave one loud wail 
 and begged for a drink too; not only denied that, 
 but taken in her arms and toted out of the church, 
 before everybody. Then the cookies were found and 
 a nice gourd of cool water from the spring was given 
 me, and we went back home. I was old enough to 
 know why I was not permitted to partake of the 
 Lord's Supper the next time I went to "Old Liberty." 
 
A little elbow leans upon your knee, 
 
 Your tired knee that has so much to bear; 
 A child's dear eyes are looking lovingly 
 
 From underneath a thatch of tangled hair. 
 Perhaps you do not heed the velvet touch, 
 
 Of warm, moist fingers folding yours so tight, 
 You do not prize this blessing over-much. 
 
 You almost are too tired to pray tonight. 
 
 — Anonymous. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 Our Removal to Clayton. 
 
 One day when father had returned from the corn 
 field my mother said to him, ''Mr. Lee, I wish you 
 would move to Clayton where we will be near enough 
 to a school for the little children to go by themselves." 
 "Why, 'old woman' (calling her by his pet name for 
 my mother), "what shall I do with the farm?" "Rent 
 it," said my mother, "start up the old saw mill in 
 Clayton, build a home there for us to live in; I hear 
 that a great many people are anxious to move there 
 if they could only get the lumber to build with. We 
 have plenty of seasoned lumber," she continued, "to 
 build a home for us. Since some of the older children 
 are married it makes the work too hard on you. The 
 small children ought to be in school every day, and 
 here we have to send them and send after them and 
 many times the weather is so bad they don't go at all. 
 If we move to town there will be no excuse for stay- 
 ing at home. When you have set up the saw mill 
 and supplied everybody with lumber for building, 
 you can take your money, and with some I had before 
 we were married, start some kind of a mercantile 
 business in this thriving little town. The rent from 
 the farm will put us in easy circumstances. This 
 money I have had for so long I intended to buy 
 
 23 
 
24 FORGET-ME-NOTS OF THE CIVIIv WAR. 
 
 with it a couple of young negroes to work this land 
 and increase their progeny. Knowing your feelings 
 I have nothing else to do but submit to your will, 
 though it has been a long cherished dream of mine 
 to use my money to buy slaves." 
 
 *'Now 'old woman,' I decline to discuss this slavery 
 question again. I will never own another slave (if 
 you call Pallas such), and only pray that this talk 
 among the Northern statesmen may not end without 
 good results. No I will never buy a human soul with 
 money," emphatically declared my father. *'So talk 
 no more about that, but your other proposition I be- 
 lieve is a good one, and I will go to Clayton tomorrow 
 and see what I can do." My mother who had lived 
 in town before her marriage and was never pleased 
 to live on the farm, was delighted at the prospect of 
 a change to town. 
 
 Father went to Clayton the next day, bought a lot 
 and built a home and moved his family there within 
 the next year. 
 
 Clayton was beautifully situated. Nature had been 
 most lavish in her gifts. The hills, upon which the 
 town was built, gave a most picturesque look to the 
 undulating country for miles around, if the view had 
 not been obstructed by the tall pines and majestic oaks 
 that stood like sentinels to guard the lovely spot. 
 Flowers bloomed perpetually though there came nip- 
 ping frosts now and then which made malaria and 
 fever give it a "wide berth." The atmosphere was 
 always so dry that it gave one a feeling that it had 
 just come from the hands of its maker, so pure and 
 clean it appeared. The climate reached the happy 
 
OUR RI^MOVAIv TO CI^AYTON. 25 
 
 medium in winter and summer alike, it was never 
 enervating, for the ozone from the pine forests and 
 the oxygen that the grand old oaks set free gave health 
 and rosy cheeks to the children that roamed around 
 the little town. The streets were not paved, but like 
 the beach drives at the sea shore, were hard and 
 white, as if made of crystalline powder — and for rac- 
 ing purposes gave the horses a firm footing though 
 cushioned and yielding. The water was noted for 
 its purity and health-giving qualities. Take it alto- 
 gether Clayton seemed to be about the "garden spot" 
 of the "Old North States," so far as what nature had 
 done for it. On one side of the town were the 
 "sunny banks of the rippling Neuse," inviting alike to 
 fisherman and picnicker. The other side was bor- 
 dered by "Little Creek," a limped stream filled with 
 silver perch. Added to these charms was the old 
 Academy for boys and girls, with its two large play 
 grounds which had more to do with our removal 
 there than anything that nature might have offered. 
 
 When father moved to Clayton, the mill did such 
 a good business that he was kept busy for five years. 
 In the meantime he bought pieces of land here and 
 there about town and with the money he made from 
 milling he bought a stock of goods and groceries and 
 established a mercantile business. 
 
 The war clouds were growing blacker and threat- 
 ened to end in something more than "talk." 
 
 He continued to talk against slavery, and the slave 
 owners began to fear that he might be a disturbing 
 element if let alone. One day father received an 
 anonymous letter, saying if he did not stop this talk 
 
26 ^orge:t-me:-nots oi^ the: civil war. 
 
 against slavery, that he v^ould be ''tarred and feath- 
 ered and ridden out of town on a fence rail." 
 
 He was then in very deHcate health, and when he 
 came home and told my mother about this note she 
 was greatly agitated and said, ''Why, Mr. Lee, what 
 shall we do, move back to the farm or what in the 
 world will you do?" 
 
 '' 'Old woman' I shall stay right here and do my 
 work for I do not fear these men who are too cow- 
 ardly to sign their names to the letter of threats." 
 
 "Oh suppose they should try to carry out their dia- 
 bolical plot. I don't think we ought to stay here, 
 really 'White Oaks' is the only safe place. Come let 
 us move tomorrow." 
 
 "Never," said my father, very calmly but very firmly 
 too. "I am not a coward, for I inherit a love of my 
 country from my ancestors who helped to establish 
 independence in these colonies, but slavery and its 
 evils I forsee will precipitate another war for the free- 
 dom of another race. I do not fear these threats for 
 the writers of this anonymous letter dare not do what 
 they no doubt would like to do, for such a thing would 
 be heralded from Maine to Texas, and my life, though 
 a forfeit, would help to free the slaves, even sooner 
 than I now think will be." 
 
 "Well, Mr. Lee, I can't help but fear all the same 
 such underhand work. It is not the foe we meet face 
 to face, but the enemy that slips upon us unawares," 
 persisted my poor mother. "I dare not permit my- 
 self to think of this horrible deed without being 
 alarmed and fearing for your safety. I shall keep a 
 
OUR RKMOVAIv TO CLAYTON. 27 
 
 close watch over you and not let you get far from 
 me," insisted mother. 
 
 ''Well, 'old woman,' this cough means that my days 
 are numbered. I want to make my will and arrange 
 all my worldly affairs, so as to give you as little 
 trouble as possible. I want to leave you with the busi- 
 ness in good shape, knowing your fine executive abil- 
 ity, so that everything will continue to run smoothly. 
 I am resigned to God's will, but hate to leave you, my 
 faithful wife, with the five small children." Here my 
 mother began to cry, "Oh don't speak of leaving me 
 and the children, I can't bear to hear you say it," and 
 thereupon she broke down again. 
 
 "Well, 'old woman,' this is a matter of business ; that 
 you should know we are doing well in the store and 
 the farm is paying better than I ever hoped for. Rais- 
 ing cotton has been more profitable, with the Jones 
 tenants, than my poor efforts at raising grain ever 
 were, besides bringing much higher prices." 
 
 However the days and nights were spent in horror 
 to my mother, though she tried to hide it from 
 father; the fear of those men doing that dastardly 
 deed, and the knowledge that father was daily grow- 
 ing worse, made poor mother old before her time. I 
 remember going day after day with her to the store 
 where she sat and sewed, always near the door, and 
 scanning every one as they came in, her face wear- 
 ing a set look and a determined one, and I now think 
 after more than forty years have passed that it was 
 her presence, always near my father, that helped to 
 hinder those fanatics from perpetrating that black 
 crime. 
 
We live in deed, not years; in thoughts, not breath; 
 
 In feelings, not in figures on a dial. 
 We should count time by heart throbs where they beat 
 
 For God, for man, for duty; He most lives 
 Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best; 
 
 Life is but a means unto an end, that end 
 Beginning, mean and end to all things, God. 
 
 — P. J. Bailey. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 Thk Attempt to ''Tar and Fi^athEr'' My Father. 
 
 My two half brothers, Walter and George, were as 
 rank secessionists as my father was abolitionist. 
 Though only fifteen and seventeen years of age, these 
 boys had inherited from Col. John Hinton, their ma- 
 ternal grandfather, a desire to own slaves, and always 
 declared when they were old enough that they would 
 have negroes to work for them. Still the main reason 
 for their being secessionists was that all their com- 
 panions were drilling and talking of war all the time. 
 Aunt Pallas having heard my mother tell of the note 
 to my father, in which he was to be ''tarred and feath- 
 ered and ridden on a rail out of town," was so dis- 
 tressed that she told Walter and George to get out the 
 old guns and put them in good condition, that they 
 didn't need to go off to shoot Yankees on account of 
 the trifling niggers. 'Til tell ye what we will do, 
 when anybody comes round heah looking for Marse 
 Charles we will take our guns and load up with pow- 
 der and go out and fire 'em off, he ! he ! I'll be seized 
 by cats, but dey nevah will try to ride any other gen- 
 tleman on a rail." 
 
 The boys were so angry at the bare mention of 
 such treatment for their good father that it was all 
 
 29 
 
30 I^ORGET-ME-NOTS OF THE CIVIL WAR. 
 
 Aunt Pallas could do to keep Walter and George from 
 putting in bullets to kill somebody. At last she per- 
 suaded them not to do it, still they "kept their powder 
 dry" and waited. 
 
 One beautiful moonlight night some one came to 
 our front door and knocked. One of the boys went to 
 open it and found waiting outside a negro boy, owned 
 by one of our near neighbors, who said ''my master 
 sent me to ax your daddy to come out to de store and 
 let me have a bottle of castor ile, for brudder Reuben, 
 he got de colok." Aunt Pallas had posted Walter and 
 George that when they heard her singing, "My head 
 got wet wid de midnight dew, honah de lam, good 
 Lawd honah de lam," they might know that the posse 
 were out after father. Before Walter had time to go 
 to father with the message Aunt Pallas began to sing 
 "Honah de lam" and both boys darted out to the place 
 where the guns were hidden, and with Aunt Pallas 
 leading the little army they made a rush for the big 
 oaks, and standing back of them they began to dis- 
 charge the old guns. At the first shot such consterna- 
 tion seized these villains that the whole posse stam- 
 peded and such running as they did has never been 
 seen before or since in that dignified old town of 
 Clayton. Of course Aunt Pallas and the boys ran after 
 them and continued to explode their powder, but so 
 effectually did the explosions work that no more at- 
 tempts were ever made on my father's life. 
 
In war not crafty, but in battle bold, 
 
 No wealth I value, and I shun all gold. 
 Be steel the only metal shall decree 
 
 The fate of empire, or to you or me. 
 The generous conquest be by courage tried, 
 
 And all the captives on the Roman side, 
 I swear by all the gods of open war, 
 
 As fate their lives, their freedom I will spare. 
 
 — Pyrrhus. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 The: Year Eighteein Sixty-one. 
 
 The year eighteen sixty-one was ushered in with 
 loud mutterings of war, and among my earHest recol- 
 lections were those of seeing a body of men drilling 
 in front of our home. These militia companies were 
 being formed in every county, and the women and 
 girls were meeting in halls or school houses for the 
 purpose of sewing on flags and uniforms for the men 
 and boys, that later became soldiers. Everywhere was 
 heard the talk of war, even the small boys were hoping 
 for the time to come when they might be allowed to 
 shoulder a gun and go off to shoot "Yankees." One 
 day on our way home from school, some one told us 
 that Fort Sumter had been fired on, that was even unin- 
 telligible to me, but greatly pleased my brother George, 
 for he threw up his cap and howled, "Hurrah for 
 South Carolina, I am going to be a soldier now." 
 
 My father was so feeble that when Walter and 
 George declared their intention of volunteering he 
 could not show them by his arguments that they were 
 wrong, and knowing, too, that his days were num- 
 bered, felt that only a short time and they would 
 be at liberty to go to the war. From morning till 
 night was heard fife and drum, or the talk of the citi- 
 
 33 
 
34 ^orget-me:-nots oi^ the: civii. war. 
 
 zens that preparations were being made all over the 
 South for a contest which would soon end in favor 
 of States' rights. Shortly trains loaded with men going 
 to enlist, and soldiers, kept the young people running 
 to the depot to see the different regiments. Every- 
 one had a flag which was waved as the trains passed 
 our town. Sometimes they made no stop at the sta- 
 tion, but the girls had notes of encouragement written 
 and placed between split sticks, and as the cars went by 
 the girls would throw their missives of faith and hope 
 to these strangers. When the ladies were sewing on 
 the uniforms the girls would write notes and put them 
 in the pockets of the soldiers' jackets. In these they 
 would write and beg the wearer to be true to his colors 
 and his country, and never despair until the last Yan- 
 kee had been whipped. Like ''bread cast upon the 
 waters" the soldier boys read and were inspired with 
 courage to go on, and very many correspondences be- 
 gun like that, ripened in later years into love and mar- 
 riage. 
 
And far from over the distance 
 
 The faltering echoes come — 
 Of the flying blast of the trumpet, 
 
 And the rattling roll of drum; 
 Then the Grandsire speaks in a whisper, 
 
 "The end no man can see: 
 But we give him to his country. 
 
 And we give our prayers to Thee." 
 
 William Winter. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The Gallant Fourth North Carolina Regiment 
 State Troops. 
 
 The day that the gallant "Fourth North Carolina 
 Regiment" passed our town my half brothers, Walter 
 and George, bade us all goodbye amid tears and hur- 
 rahs, bands playing and the crowd singing, ''Shout the 
 joyous notes of freedom" and off to the war they went. 
 They had spent some little time at Fort Macon, but 
 now they were on their way to Richmond and death. 
 Some of their letters have been preserved up to this 
 time; they were written on scraps of writing pa- 
 per and sometimes cheapest wrapping paper. It 
 may be interesting to publish them for fu- 
 ture generations, to know exactly what two young 
 Southern boys thought of war in the beginning, and 
 how one, at least, throughout those terrible battles at 
 Spottsylvania Court House, etc., lasted to give us such 
 a vivid description of them, and I have written them 
 verbatim from the original letters, and know nothing 
 was exaggerated from their view point. This extract 
 from the letter of a friend shows how fine looking 
 and soldierly in bearing these brave men and boys 
 of the Fourth North Carolina were considered by a 
 
 37 
 
38 forget-me:-nots of the civii. war. 
 
 friend who saw them in Richmond soon after their 
 arrival. 
 
 ''The Fourth North CaroHna Regiment" is the recip- 
 ient of unmeasured praise for their deportment while 
 on leave and their soldierly bearing in the ranks. In 
 fact not a regiment has come from our state that has 
 not elicited unstinted commendation for their fine ap- 
 pearance. It does me good to stand in a crowd as I 
 did on Sunday when the ''Fourth" passed through the 
 streets and hear the hearty words of satisfaction ex- 
 pressed as to the material, the "Old North State" was 
 sending into the field. Such expressions as "Did you 
 ever see such determined looking fellows, steady, cool 
 and resolute looking?" "What should we fear while 
 such as these are between Richmond and the enemy?" 
 I assure you I felt like giving one uproarious shout 
 for the "Old North State" forever. I enclose you a 
 rare curiosity, being the Federal version of the glorious 
 battle at Manassas. It is a curiosity, inasmuch as no 
 instance is known where a Lincolnite has put so many 
 words together with so few monstrous discrepancies 
 spicing the whole, and I have marked them, under the 
 influence of the panic which such news created. A 
 greater proportion of truth bubbled forth than usually 
 characterizes their accounts of such disasters to their 
 
 Richmond, July 23, 1861. 
 
 Robertson. 
 
'Be of good cheer; your cause belongs 
 To Him who can avenge your wrongs; 
 Leave it to Him, our Lord. 
 Though hidden from our longing eyes, 
 He sees the Gideon who shall rise 
 To save us, and His Word." 
 
 — Michael Altenburg. 
 
 / 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 L^TTDRs From Gkorge: and Walte;r. 
 
 Fort Macon, N. C, April 19, 1861. 
 Dear Mother: 
 
 Our company arrived here this morning at 8 o'clock. 
 We had to stay at Beaufort last night, the water being 
 too rough to carry us over last night. I intended to 
 have written last night while at Beaufort, but we were 
 so completely worn out with hollowing, etc., that all 
 of us got to bed as soon as possible,*which was about 
 12 o'clock. We have been employed a little while 
 this morning carrying barrels, etc. It was raining the 
 whole time. They make no difference here for rain 
 or anything else. 
 
 There is only about two or three hundred men here 
 as yet. There are more men expected daily. Our 
 company is the largest, the best looking (so said by 
 the men here), that there is in the Fort. 
 
 George and Tom Stith are down on the beach 
 shooting porpoises. I had to borrow this piece of 
 paper to write to you, George having the paper in his 
 valise. i , ^i 
 
 The company has this evening to look around. To- 
 morrow we have to commence drilling. George has 
 just come in. He says he had lots of fun, and told 
 
 41 
 
42 FORGET-MI^-NOTS OF THE CIVII, WAR. 
 
 me to tell you that he would write to you tomorrow. 
 He found a good many curious looking shells, which 
 he has put in his valise, to carry home. Blake asked 
 me to say to Mr. Rhodes that he was very well sat- 
 isfied, indeed. The whole company is enjoying them- 
 selves very much. I will write to you again as soon 
 as I hear from you. Please write to me often. Di- 
 rect to Fort Macon, care of Capt. Jesse Barnes. Your 
 affectionate son, till death, 
 
 Walter. 
 
 Fort MacoxN, N. C, April 28, '61. 
 Dear Mother: 
 
 As there is a man going by Clayton tomorrow I 
 thought I would write you a few lines, to let you know 
 how we are getting along. We are enjoying ourselves 
 as well as can be expected. We had prayers and sing- 
 ing this morning by Mr. Cobb. He spoke of the inju- 
 ries of the South in an eloquent manner. 
 
 For the last day or two we have been living on the 
 victuals that the people sent down here. The first few 
 days we had bread, butter, etc., but as they have given 
 out we live on bread, fat meat and coffee. If Blake 
 does not tell you, I wish you would please send Walter 
 and me a cooked ham and some biscuits, with a few 
 of those small round cakes, for the cakes that are sent 
 down here for the company are usually taken care 
 of by the officers and are hardly seen by the privates. 
 Walter is upon his bunk enjoying himself finely and 
 sends his love to you. I am going to try to get a fur- 
 lough to go home before long, for I long to be home 
 
George. 
 
IvKTTE^RS ^ROM Ge:ORG^ AND WAI^TE^R. 43 
 
 with you all. * * * I forgot to tell you that we did 
 not have to drill or work either this Sunday like we 
 did the last. You spoke of sending a mattress down 
 to us, but you need not for we are getting along 
 very well. We are ordered to stay down here three 
 months without lief to go home in the meantime, so 
 Col. Tew says. Believe me as ever 
 
 Your loving son, 
 
 Camp Hill, N. C, July 9, 1861. 
 Dear Mother: 
 
 We arrived here about night, the day we left Wil- 
 son, and having raised our tents prepared to get sup- 
 per, which we got about 9 o'clock. We are encamped 
 in an old pine field, which is very hot, but the other 
 companies that were here before have a very pleas- 
 ant oak grove on a hill. The Second regiment, under 
 Col. Tew, are on the opposite side of the road. Our 
 Col. Anderson is a fine looking man, about six feet 
 high, large and muscular, but not corpulent; a high, 
 broad and intellectual forehead, bold face, and whis- 
 kers (shaped like Walter's), about a foot long. 
 
 It is different with us here to what it was in Fort 
 Macon and Newbern, as we are now the same as regu- 
 lars. We have to come under the general regulations 
 of war. I do not think that we will leave here for 
 some time yet, as the whole regiment has to be uni- 
 formed with state dress. We have not received any- 
 thing, and have only drilled this morning. Capt. Hall, 
 of the Irish Company of Wilmington, in Tew's regi- 
 
44 forge:t-m^-nots oi^ the civii. war. 
 
 ment, had one of his men hung over a pole by the 
 thumbs, but Col. Tew had him taken down. In Tew's 
 regiment there are 200 men sick, and a great many have 
 died already, but in ours there are only two in the hos- 
 pital. Walter sends his love. When you write, direct 
 Camp Hill, Company F., Fourth Regiment, infantry. 
 Goodbye. 
 
 Your affectionate son, 
 
 Ge:orge;. 
 
 Richmond, Va., July 22, 1861. 
 Dear Mother: 
 
 We arrived here yesterday, and had to walk about 
 four miles to our camps, with our knapsacks on our 
 backs, and everything necessary to soldiers. Before 
 we left Camp Hill, we got our state uniform, blankets 
 and all the accouterments. We were nearly worn out 
 after having walked four miles to our encampment, 
 the knapsack straps hurt our shoulders, besides the 
 weight. We expect to leave here for Manassas to-day, 
 but I do not think we will, as it is raining. 
 
 We are enjoying ourselves finely. I have not had 
 anything to eat since yesterday morning, except some 
 cake and apples. We slept on the ground last night, 
 and I felt sorter chilly this morning, but we will soon 
 get used to that. I must close now. Give my love 
 to all. 
 
 Goodbye. 
 
 Your affectionate son, 
 
 Gejorgk. 
 
LETTERS I^ROM GEORGE AND WALTER. 45 
 
 Richmond, Va., July 22, 1861. 
 My Dear Mother: 
 
 As George wrote two or three times since I have, I 
 told him I would write when we got to Richmond. 
 The first thing I knew this morning was that he was 
 writing home, so I told him to leave some room for 
 me and I would write some in his letter. 
 
 There is not much to write, as we are about four 
 miles from the center of the city. We don't hear 
 any news, though we heard yesterday that they were 
 fighting at Manassas Gap all day. We heard none 
 of the particulars. Captain rather expects to leave 
 to-day, but I do not think we will. Col. Anderson 
 came along with us. We left half of the regiment 
 at Camp Hill (five companies). My opinion is that 
 we will stay here until the other five companies come, 
 and all of us leave together. 
 
 David Carter and little lawyer Marsh are both Cap- 
 tains in our regiment. George got the bundle you 
 sent him yesterday. We are enjoying camp life now 
 to perfection. Heretofore we have had a plank floor, 
 but now we pitch our tents, spread our blankets on 
 the ground and sleep as sound as you please. I never 
 slept better in my life than I did last night. If it 
 stops raining this morning I expect to go up town 
 shopping, and if I have time I want to have myself 
 and George's likeness taken together and send it 
 home, as you may never see either of us again. 
 
 I can't tell you anything about Richmond yet, as 
 we have not seen any part of it but one street, that 
 was about four miles long, and led out of town to 
 our camp. We are much obliged for the bed quilts. 
 
46 ^org^t-me:-nots o^ th^ civiIv war. 
 
 They do us a great deal of good. We do not trouble 
 ourselves to carry them, but roll them up in our tents. 
 We got blankets before we left our camps. Some of 
 them were the finest I ever saw. I was detailed to 
 give the blankets and knapsacks out, so I kept the best 
 out for all the boys in our tent. They are so fine 
 and nice I hate to spread them on the ground. 
 
 Fitzgerald, Henry Warren, Billy Barnes, Tom Stith, 
 George and myself compose the inhabitants of our 
 tent. We have a very respectable crowd. I like it 
 much better than being in a room with the whole 
 company. As we are we have just as nice and quiet 
 a time of it as if we were in a private room. 
 
 Give my love to sisters, and believe me, as ever, your 
 sincere and affectionate son, 
 
 Walter. 
 
 P. S. I don't know where to tell you to direct your 
 letters in future, as it is uncertain how long we stay 
 here. 
 
 Company F., Fourth Regiment, N. C. State 
 Troops. 
 Near Manassas Junction, Va., July 31, 1861. 
 Dear Mother: 
 
 This is the first opportunity I have had of writing 
 to you since I've been here. We do not live as well 
 here as we have, but we make out very well. We have 
 to walk about a mile for our water; as the ground is 
 too rocky to dig a well we get it out of a spring. You 
 can't imagine how much I wish to see you all, I long 
 to be free to go where I please. But alas, there is no 
 telling where I may be, for when we first came here 
 
LETTERS l^ROM GEORGE AND WAI.TER. 47 
 
 we did not expect to stay here this long without having 
 a fight. I went over to the battle field last Sunday, 
 and there met a most horrible sight, for it had been 
 over a week after the fight, and the bodies of the men 
 had been blackened by the burning sun and the horses 
 had a most disagreeable smell. 
 
 On our going on the field the first object that met 
 our gaze was a grave in which fifteen North Caro- 
 linans were buried. We next came to a Yankee who 
 had only a little dust thrown over him. One of his 
 hands was out, which looked very black, the skin 
 peeling off, and you could see the inscission in it. The 
 next which I noticed particularly had his face out and 
 his white teeth looked horrible. The worms were eat- 
 ing the skin off his face. It made me shudder to think 
 that perhaps I may be buried that way. 
 
 There are wounded prisoners all through the coun- 
 try in every house. I hope that peace will soon be 
 declared, that we may enjoy the happiness with which 
 we were once blest. I wish you all would write to 
 me for I long to hear from you. 
 
 I suppose you heard about Frank T. running 
 from the enemy; it is true, the officers told it. The 
 General gave him his choice to have a Court Martial 
 or be discharged through cowardice, and he took the 
 latter. 
 
 We have our little bantams with us yet, and we 
 intend that they shall crow in Washington City, which 
 is only thirty-three miles off, if we live. I must close. 
 
 Goodbye, 
 
 Your affectionate son, 
 
 GieoRGE. 
 
48 I^ORG^T-ME-NOTS O? THE CIVIL WAR. 
 
 Manassas Junction^ August 23, 1861. 
 My Dear Mother: 
 
 We received your letter this morning w^hen John 
 Clark came. George wrote a day or tv^o ago, which 
 you had hardly received when you last wrote. There 
 is no news of any kind worth writing. George and 
 myself are both well at present. It has been raining 
 here for nearly a week, and it is tolerably cool. This 
 morning was very cool and chilly. It begins to feel 
 like winter is fast approaching. You spoke of 
 sending us some winter clothing. We would be very 
 glad to have a good supply, as we shall suffer if not 
 well clothed in this cold country. I can almost imagine 
 now how cold it will be on top of these high hills when 
 the winter winds come whistling around them. The 
 following list of clothes will be as many as we shall 
 need and can take care of conveniently. Two pairs 
 of thick woolen shirts each, such as can be worn either 
 next to the skin or over other shirts ; two pairs of red 
 flannel drawers each, and some woolen socks, that is 
 everything that we shall need for the present. You 
 can send them by express, and we shall get them. You 
 need not attempt to come to see us, for it will be im- 
 possible for you to get here. Men are not even allowed 
 to come after their sons to carry them home when they 
 die with sickness in the service. I tell you this to save 
 you the trouble and expense of coming so far and 
 then having to go back without seeing us. It is a 
 great deal harder to get back after you get here than 
 it is to come. 
 
 Ed Harris is now here with us, he came day before 
 
LETTERS FROM GEORGE AND WALTER. 49 
 
 yesterday. He will leave in the morning, and I shall 
 send this letter by him. He got here through the in- 
 fluence of some members of Congress of his acquaint- 
 ance in Richmond. 
 
 Give my love to all. Tell them to write often and 
 let us hear all the news. 
 
 Good bye. 
 
 Your devoted son, 
 
 Walter. 
 
 P. S. Please name my dog Nero and try to make 
 
 him of some account. What is sister's address? 
 
 Dear Mother: 
 
 As Walter has told you everything, I shall be at a 
 loss what to say, but I cannot help writing when an 
 opportunity presents itself. Our fare is bread and but- 
 ter and occasionally a little honey. The two latter 
 articles we buy. The nights have been rather cool 
 of late, but we have not suffered any yet. 
 
 I wish some of you would write every day, for I 
 
 do love to hear from home so much. I do not know 
 
 what else to say, I only thought I would write to let 
 
 you know that I was still in the land of the living. 
 
 Write soon, some of you. Tell Dr. Plarrell that I 
 
 shall endeavor to write to him soon. If you have an 
 
 opportunity, I wish you would send some paper and 
 
 envelopes, as every letter we send costs about ten 
 
 cents, and that is too exorbitant a price. Give my love 
 
 to all. Goodbye. 
 
 Your loving son, 
 
 Ge:orge. 
 
50 fORGET-ME-NOTS O^ THEi CIVIL WAR. 
 
 Manassas Junction, October 11, 1861. 
 Dear Mother: 
 
 I would have written as soon as I received your 
 letter if the box had come with it, but as the captain 
 could not bring them with him, he had to get them 
 transported on freight, which did not arrive until yes- 
 terday. You never saw such a mess in your life, cakes 
 molded, meat spoiled, etc. Everything was safe and 
 sound in our box, which we rejoiced at very much, 
 for we have not been faring the best for the last 
 week or two. Tom Stith got a box which was full 
 of cake and nearly every bit of it was spoiled. 
 
 I am thankful for the boots, which are a trifle too 
 large but I reckon by the time that I put on two or 
 three pairs of stockings, they will nearly fit me. We 
 were all very glad to see the captain and we were 
 also pleased to see the things he brought with him, 
 which added so much to our comfort. Times are all 
 very quiet about here. We hear firing on the Poto- 
 mac nearly every day, though I heard some of the 
 boys say that Mr. Christman was collecting goods to 
 bring to the soldiers. If such be the case I wish you 
 would send me an old quilt or something as somebody 
 has stolen my shawl and I think I shall need one this 
 winter, but you need not send anything unless some 
 one can bring it, for it will cost too much to get any- 
 thing here. We are all well and if we had been sick 
 our boxes would have cured us. Concerning what 
 Jeff Davis says, I don't think I shall take any notice 
 of it at all, for there are already too many healthy 
 young men skulking around home and I could not bear 
 
IvETTl^RS ^ROM GEORGE: AND WALTER. 51 
 
 the disgrace of leaving the army because I was not 
 eighteen years old, but shall stay in the service until 
 the war is over. I must close now, give my love to 
 all and tell them to write. 
 Goodbye. 
 
 Your loving son, 
 
 George. 
 
 Manassas Junction^ Va., October 24, 1861. 
 Dear Mother: 
 
 I received your letter this morning and was very 
 glad to hear from you all, but was very sorry to hear 
 that sister was sick. There were 544 prisoners brought 
 in here yesterday morning from Leesburg, an account 
 of which you have seen in the paper ere now. They 
 were sent off last night to Richmond. Blake and Jack 
 Robinson was detailed from our company to go as 
 guard. Leesburg has since been taken by the enemy. 
 Our forces retreated seven miles. The enemy are 
 about to flank us and I think that we shall have to 
 fight soon for I guess it is very galling to them to have 
 so many of their men taken prisoners. We have had 
 frost for several nights and it is already beginning to 
 turn very cold, but we have not suffered any yet. I 
 wear two pair of socks in my boots and they do very 
 well, for it keeps the cold wind off my legs. 
 
 You were speaking of your hogs being fat. You 
 ought to see these up here, they are so fat that they 
 can hardly get along. The beeves that we have here 
 are the fattest and prettiest I ever saw. They are 
 generally large young cows, nearly twice as large as 
 ours at home. I have often wished that you could 
 
52 FORGET-M^-NOTS 01^ THE CIVIL WAR. 
 
 have such at home. We have got thick overcoats from 
 the government, with capes reaching below our el- 
 bows. They are of great service to us in standing 
 guard. If we had a good dog and was allowed to 
 shoot, we could live on rabbits, for I never saw so 
 many in my life, the woods are full of them. If I 
 only had Leo here now, I could get along very well. I 
 don't want him to be an unruly dog, for he comes of 
 such good breed that I would not like to hear of his 
 being killed. 
 
 I should like to be at home in hog killing time, and 
 wish I could see Tasso now, for I know he is a fine 
 looking dog. I hope Walter's puppy will not turn out 
 I should like to be at home with you on Christmas, 
 but the way affairs are going on now I do not think 
 there is any likelihood of it, as for winter quarters, 
 I do not expect that we will go into any at all, for the 
 enemy pride themselves on standing the cold weather 
 and I expect they will attack us in the dead of winter. 
 We learned from the prisonejrs that the enemy intended 
 to attack us in two or three days, but let them come 
 when they will. I will insure them a very w^arm recep- 
 tion. Before this reaches you will have heard of L. 
 Barnes' death and also of Bowden's discharge from 
 the army on account of being a minor, etc. Lafayette's 
 death has cast a deep gloom over the company, for 
 he was a very much beloved member. I will be very 
 glad to get those blankets but I would wait and send 
 them by some one, as they might get lost by them- 
 selves. All send their love to you. 
 
 Give my love to all. Goodbye. 
 
 Your loving son, 
 
 GeorgjS. 
 
letters i^rom george and wai.ter. 53 
 
 Camp Pickins, Manassas, Va., Nov. 2, 1861. 
 Mr. Chas. W. Lek. 
 Dear Sir: 
 
 Yours of the 29th ult. was received to-day, con- 
 tents duly noted, and I hasten to reply. I must confess 
 to a feeling of surprise that you desire the discharge 
 of your son, Mr. G. B. Lee, from service, as I was of 
 the opinion that you had fully and determinedly given 
 your consent to his serving in the army of the C. S. 
 during the war. Yet, however much I should regret to 
 see George leave us, as he has been with us so long and 
 has been, though young, a strong, athletic and good 
 soldier, you have my free consent to have him dis- 
 charged. You will be the proper person to apply to 
 the Government through the War Dept., for the same, 
 where I doubt not, should you still desire him to leave, 
 you can, by presenting the facts, after a while obtain 
 his discharge. It is not in my power to do more than 
 give my consent, which you now have. George ex- 
 pressed some surprise on receiving your letter, 
 and says he don't want to leave. I, of course, do not 
 deem it proper to give him any advice, but simply told 
 him to write you whatever he might think proper, as 
 of course you were the person to advise him, when 
 you could. He has just handed me a letter to enclose 
 to you with this. Whatever course you may pursue 
 I shall willingly acquiesce in. If he is still left in my 
 charge, I shall, as heretofore, advise and correct him 
 and use every effort in my power to secure his happi- 
 ness and welfare. Hoping to hear from you again 
 and that my answer may be satisfactory, I remain. 
 Yours most respectfully, 
 
 J. S. Barnes. 
 
54 FORGET-M^-NOTS OF THE CIVII. WAR. 
 
 Manassas Junction, Va., November 2, 1861. 
 Dear Father: 
 
 I received your letter this morning through Captain 
 Barnes and I never v^as more surprised in my life, to 
 hear that you had applied for my dismissal for, 
 although I should like very much to go home, I do not 
 like the idea of being discharged from the army on 
 account of my age, for in size and strength I consider 
 myself able to stand the campaign, and should I go 
 home, I do not think that it would be entirely right 
 for me to stay there when our coast is in such immi- 
 nent peril. I compare this war to that of the revolu- 
 tionary, when our ancestors fought for their liberty, 
 that whoever remained neutral were considered Tories, 
 and I think that when this war is over and peace is 
 declared, those who had no hand in it will be consid- 
 ered in the same light as the Tories of old, and I have 
 too much pride in me to allow others to gain the 
 rights which I will possess, besides it would take two 
 or three months before a discharge could be obtained. 
 It took Mr. Bowden that long to get his son dis- 
 charged. Captain Barnes is going to write and he 
 will tell you all about it. 
 
 I am very well satisfied here. I am treated well, 
 and am permitted every indulgence which the army 
 regulations will permit. All the boys wish me to 
 stay. I am a minor in age, as you say, but I am a 
 man in size and everything else, and fully able to be 
 a soldier. Nothing would afford me greater 
 pleasure than to be of service to you, but 
 the confederacy also needs my services. But if you 
 
I^DTTERS FROM GEORGE AND WAI^TER. 55 
 
 Still insist upon my coming home, you can write again. 
 I expect Bowden pictured to you the darkest side of 
 a soldier's life, but there is enough enjoyment blended 
 with it to make a soldier's life very pleasant. 
 I must close now, so goodbye. 
 
 Your loving son, 
 
 George. 
 
 Manassas Junction, Va., December 9, 1861. 
 Dear Mother: 
 
 I received your letter some days since and was very 
 glad to hear from you and would have answered im- 
 mediately but Walter has gone to Richmond and I 
 thought I would wait until he came back. He went 
 with a detail of men to carry prisoners who were taken 
 by the N. C. Cavalry. He came back day before yes- 
 terday and brought us several books to read. Among 
 the prisoners was a deserter from the Federal camp. 
 He was a Baron in Russia and being of an adventurous 
 disposition, he came over to participate in a battle or 
 two and accepted a Lieutenant's commission in the 
 Federal army, but finding, as he said, that there was 
 not a gentleman in the whole army, he deserted, took 
 a horse and came into our camp and has been sent to 
 Richmond for trial. Formerly he had a commission 
 in the Russian army, which he showed to the people. 
 
 We are expecting a battle daily. Yesterday we were 
 presented with a battle flag from General Beaure- 
 gard, consisting of white cloth crossed with blue. This 
 is for us to fight under and also every other regiment 
 has one. The enemy knows our national flag and had 
 
56 FORGET-ME-NOTS 01^ THE CIVII. WAR. 
 
 already tried to deceive us by hoisting it at their head. 
 Now I guess we will deceive them next time. 
 
 Our company has been detached from the regiment 
 for the purpose of taking charge of two batteries which 
 another company has left. We are now relieved of a 
 great deal of duty, for we only have to guard the 
 batteries which take six men a day and that brings 
 us on about once a week, and we drill occasionally. 
 With that exception we have nothing to do, but if 
 the regiment leaves to go into a fight our company 
 goes also, and if the battle rages at this point we will 
 give them a few grapes to eat and also a few shells 
 to hide themselves in and then we will play ball with 
 them for a while. 
 
 Walter is still at his old, or rather, new post, and 
 has a great deal to do as the chief clerk is very sick. 
 I hope we shall get a chance to come and see you 
 before the winter is gone, but I have given up the 
 idea of seeing you this Christmas, altogether, but after 
 the fight I reckon we can get a chance to go home. 
 Give my love to all and tell them to write soon. 
 
 Goodbye. I remain as ever. 
 
 Your loving son, 
 
 George. 
 
 Manassas Junction, Va., January 16, 1862. 
 Dear Sister: 
 
 I received your letter some days since and was very 
 much rejoiced to hear from you, but I thought that 
 you were a very long time in answering my last. It 
 came at last and eagerly did I devour the contents and 
 
I,e:TTI]:rS from GEORGE AND WAI^T^R. 57 
 
 with what pleasure I Hngered on every sentence, no 
 tongue can tell. The description you gave of your 
 tableaux interested me very much, and I regret 
 very much, not being able to have been there, 
 as all such scenes always interest me so much, 
 besides the desire of seeing you act. I think, 
 myself, that you should have had your face painted, 
 and that would have set off the piece a great deal. It 
 is a pretty hard piece. Didn't you feel pretty scared? 
 What does Dick act? Who was that sweetheart of 
 yours that has been home four times? I should like 
 to know him. 
 
 We have a hard time of it here now. The ground 
 is covered with snow and then a sleet aver that, and 
 it is nearly as cold as the frozen regions, the winds 
 come directly from mountains and blow around us 
 like a regular hurricane. But we hav^e now moved 
 into our winter quarters, huge log hut, and we keep 
 very comfortable, but it is nothing like home, home 
 with its sweet recollections. As I sit and write I can- 
 not refrain from gliding back into the past and enjoy- 
 ing the blessed memories of yore. But enough of 
 indulging the imagination, for this is a sad reality and 
 it will not do for my imagination to assume too large 
 a sway. Tell Miss Myra that when I visit Washing- 
 ton I will call on her parents. I expect to go there 
 soon, either as a visitor or captive, but I hope as the 
 former. We will have a tableau before long, I expect, 
 but I expect the scene will be played in a larger place 
 than a hall. It will encompass several miles and will 
 take several hours to perform it, but when it does come 
 
58 forgi:t-me:-nots o^ the civil war. 
 
 off it will end in a sad havoc. I am very thankful to 
 you for those socks you knit for me, and when I wear 
 them I shall think of you. All around me are asleep 
 and the huge logs have sunk into large livid coals ever 
 and anon emitting large brilliant sparks, that cast a 
 ghastly hue around the whole room, and I now think 
 it time to close, so goodbye. 
 
 Your loving brother, 
 
 George). 
 
 Manassas Junction, February 22, 1862. 
 Dear Mother: 
 
 I did not intend to write before the Captain came 
 back, but as one of our men is going home on a sick 
 furlough I though I would write a few lines to let 
 you know how we are. I expect the Captain is at 
 Richmond at the Inauguration of the President (Jeff 
 Davis), if so he will be here by tomorrow night, and 
 we are all anxiously waiting for his return, each one 
 looking for a letter and a box of good things. 
 
 The weather is still very bad and there is an inces- 
 sant rain since morning, the roads are so sloppy and 
 rough that the wagons can hardly get along over them 
 and very frequently we have our wood to carry on 
 our shoulders to keep our fires burning, but neverthe- 
 less we are getting along nicely and not much incom- 
 moded from the inclemency of the weather. 
 
 To-day you will remember is my birthday, seven- 
 teen years old. In size I have been a man for some- 
 time, and now I am nearly one in age. I do not feel 
 as boyish as I did when I left home, for here we have 
 
IvKTTERS I'ROM GKORGE AND WAI^TER. 59 
 
 to act the man whether we are or not, and it has been 
 quite natural for me to do so. In the service is a 
 splendid place to study human nature, you can very 
 early find out what a man is. This war will be a ben- 
 efit to me and an injury to others. Some seem to 
 lose all pride for self, and like a brute are governed 
 entirely by their animal passions. Such persons may 
 be found kneeling at the shrine of Bacchus, to such 
 persons it is decidedly injurious. As for myself, I 
 think it will be very beneficial, for I learn to take care 
 of myself, think and act for myself. I now see how 
 much education is needed, and I regret exceedingly not 
 having applied myself more closely when I had the 
 opportunity. If this war closes within the next year 
 I intend to go to school again, and at the shrine of- 
 Minerva seek that which I have never obtained. 
 
 One Company of the North Carolina Cavalry were 
 taken prisoners the other day. I do not know which 
 company. Was never in better health. Give love to 
 
 all. 
 
 Your loving son, 
 
 Ge:orge:. 
 You must excuse such a disconnected letter for my 
 mind is very much confused. Love to all. Miss Mollie 
 and everybody. 
 
 Manassas Junction, Va., March 5, 1862. 
 Dear Mother: 
 
 As I have nothing to do to-day, I thought I would 
 let you all know how we are getting along. The 
 weather is still very bad, ground muddy and miry 
 
60 I^ORGKT-MK-NOTS 01^ THE CIVII. WAR. 
 
 as it can be. We all have had orders to have our 
 heavy baggage ready to send off at a moment's notice, 
 and also to be ready for the field. The enemy is con- 
 tinually marching upon us, and I expect that we will 
 be in a fight soon, but the enemy cannot do so much 
 damage for they cannot bring their artillery along 
 with them. I was vaccinated last week and my arm 
 is now very sore. I am excused from duty on account 
 of it. I wish you would please get a pair of bootless 
 and have them footed for me, a thick double soled 
 pair, that will stand anything, and well put up so that 
 there will be no ripping, and send them by Pat Simms. 
 Ask him to take them along with him or Virgil, and 
 also send what they cost, for I don't reckon that you 
 have the ready cash, and will send the money. Let 
 the boots be No. 8, made so that they will fit him, for 
 I guess our feet are pretty near the same size. If you 
 cannot get a pair made, get a pair out ot the store, 
 for I am just almost out and there is none about here. 
 Tell my sisters I think they could answer my letters. 
 I must close now. Give my love to all. 
 
 Your loving son, 
 
 George. 
 Don't get the boots if they cost exceeding $10.00. 
 
 March 14, 1862. 
 Dear Mother: 
 
 We are all well as can be expected from the situa- 
 tion that we are now in. We have retreated from Ma- 
 nassas on account of not being able to hold our posi- 
 tion. We are now 25 miles from Manassas, across 
 
LETTERS FROM GEORGE AND WALTER. 61 
 
 the Rappahannock, and camped upon a high hill that 
 commands a splendid view of that part of the river, 
 which the enemy is compelled to cross. 
 
 We left Manassas on Sunday night and traveled 
 until about 1 o'clock. When we camped for the night, 
 everything that we could not carry on our backs was 
 burned up, and I can tell you that you cannot imagine 
 how much we suffered on the march, which consisted 
 of three days' traveling, loaded down with our bag- 
 gage and equipment, sleeping on the hard, cold ground, 
 feet sore, half fed on hard dry crackers and meat. 
 Our lot was not to be envied, and it is "amazing how 
 we bore up under the circumstances. We have been 
 at this place for a day or two, for what purpose I know 
 not, unless it be for us to recruit up for another march. 
 We have no tents here to sleep in, but we have made 
 ourselves shelters out of cedar bushes. We all seem 
 to flourish, nevertheless. 
 
 The night we left Manassas it was burnt down and 
 I expect there was a million of goods consumed on 
 that night, all the soldiers' clothes they could not carry 
 with them and everything that could have been ex- 
 pected to be at such a place where everything was sent 
 to this division of the army, all was burnt. 
 
 I do not know where to tell you to send your letters, 
 for I do not know how long we will stay here, so I 
 reckon you had better not write at all. When I get 
 to a place where it is likely we will stay, I will write 
 again at a better opportunity. 
 
 Give my love to all. Goodbye. 
 
 Your loving son, 
 
 G^ORGK. 
 
62 forget-me-nots 01^ the civiiv war. 
 
 Hdqts. Special Brigade, Near Rapidan 
 
 Station, Va., March 23rd, 1862. 
 My Dear Mother: 
 
 We received your letter last night dated the 6th of 
 March. 'Tis the first time any of us have heard from 
 home within the last two weeks. We have had con- 
 siderable excitement since you last heard from us. To- 
 
 /, two weeks ago, we evacuated Manassas and have 
 y ^en moving to the rear ever since. We are now on 
 the South side of the Rapidan River, where I think 
 we will make a stand. But nothing is known for cer- 
 tain, I don't believe the Generals themselves know. 
 The night we left Manassas (about sunset) we 
 marched ten miles that night, stopped about two o'clock 
 and slept on the ground with the sky for a covering. 
 We haven't had a tent in two weeks. We are playing 
 the soldier now in good earnest. The last three days 
 we marched it rained every night just as soon as 
 we would stop for the night. After walking all day, 
 carrying your ALL on your back, then having to start 
 a fire out doors without wood (we have no light wood) 
 and cook your next day's ration, is pretty hard soldier- 
 ing, I can assure you. Though the boys all seem to 
 be cheerful. We have very little sickness and for the 
 last ten days (a circumstance not known before since 
 we have been in Virginia) we haven't had a man to 
 die in the Regiment. Pat Simms and his recruits have 
 not yet arrived, they were stopped at Gordonsville 
 some time ago, while we were making our retreat from 
 Manassas. We expect them daily. 
 
 The Yankees have been some distance this side of 
 
I.ETTERS ^ROM GEORGE: AND WAI.TER. 63 
 
 Manassas. Our troupes had a little skirmish with them 
 a day or two after we left, some of the Cavalry came 
 in sight of our pickets. They fired on them and they 
 disappeared, 'tis reported that they have gone back 
 to Centerville, perfectly non-plussed at our movement. 
 The country we are now occupying is the prettiest and 
 the most beautiful scenery you ever saw. We can see 
 the mountains in the distance covered with snow, and 
 when the sun shines it is sublime. We are on what is 
 called the ''Clark Mountain." There is a mountain 
 or rather hill, on a mountain, about a quarter of a 
 mile off that commands a view of the country for 
 miles around, some of the men are up there all the 
 time. I intend to send this letter to Richmond to be 
 mailed. I do not know that there is any communica- 
 tion between here and Richmond. We only got the old 
 mail that was stopped at Gordonville. MacWilliams, 
 one of our company, is going to Richmond tomorrow 
 on business. I will get him to mail it for me. 
 
 I do not see a word about this move in the papers, 
 so I must think the Government is withholding it 
 from them, to prevent the Yankees from obtaining 
 information. Johnnie Dunham is still A. A. Genl. 
 of the Brigade and I am writing for him, though I do 
 not have one third to do that I did at Manassas, as 
 that was a regular military post. We had inspection 
 to-day, to see how the guns, etc., were getting on after 
 the hard usage and bad weather they have gone 
 through lately. 
 
 Write soon. We may get all of your letters, though 
 you might not get all of ours, unless mailed beyond 
 
64 forget-me:-nots o^ the civil war. 
 
 Gordonsville. Give my love to all the family, Aunt 
 and Claudia, etc, etc. I remain, 
 
 Your sincere and devoted son, 
 
 Walter. 
 
 March 23rd, 1862. 
 Dear Mother: 
 
 As Walter did not mention me in his letter, I thought 
 I would let you know that I am well. Walter has 
 told you nearly everything that transpired on our 
 tramp, so I have not anything to tell except the burn- 
 ing of the property at Manassas the same day that 
 we left. We had been told to go to the Junction and 
 get what things out of our boxes as we covild carry 
 on our backs, for the boxes vv^ould not be carried on 
 the train. After we left, the town was set on fire, and 
 I expect that a million dollars' worth of property was 
 consumed. We had to leave our little Bantam chick- 
 ens, as we had no way to carry them. The first night 
 of our march, I never suffered so much from fatigue 
 in my life. When we did halt we fell on the ground 
 and slept soundly until next morning. I do not expect 
 you can hardly read this, as it is done by a log fire 
 on my cartridge box. Must close. Good bye. 
 
 Your loving son, 
 
 George. 
 
 YoRKTowN, Va., April 13, 1862. 
 Dear Mother: 
 
 I commenced a letter to you the other day but was 
 unable to finish it, being called off to participate in a 
 
IvE:TTERS ^ROM GEORGE AND WALTER. 65 
 
 slight skirmish with the Yankees. We arrived at this 
 place last Thursday evening and having sent out our 
 portion of the picket, of which I was one, we ate our 
 hard bread and meat and laid on the hard, cold ground 
 for the night, with the blankets we brought on our 
 backs for a covering. On Friday we were ordered out, 
 for the Yankees were about to attack us, our skir- 
 mishers went out towards the enemy for the purpose 
 of drawing them within range of our batteries, the 
 enemy came in sight with a long line of artillery and 
 drew up in battle array about half a mile from our 
 batteries, by that time there was some right hard fight- 
 ing on the part of the skirmishers. About two o'clock 
 p. m., our batteries opened upon them and they were 
 returned with the greatest alacrity; bombs, shells and 
 balls flew about promiscuously, but happily they did 
 no damage on our side, nearly all of them going over 
 our heads. We threw some shells that seemed to do 
 damage with the Yankees, the way they scattered when 
 the shell fell among them. One shell which came over 
 us bursted and fell all around, one piece fell right be- 
 tween two of our boys, but no injury done. The 
 firing continued until dark, in the time the skirmishers 
 set fire to a large dwelling house, near the enemy's 
 infantry and under the cover of the smoke they broke 
 in on them and routed them, but they had soon to re- 
 treat for the Yanks turned their batteries upon them, 
 after which hostilities ceased for the night. We lay 
 in the entrenchments all night. Next morning, Sat- 
 urday, the enemy was not to be seen. This morning 
 we are expecting an attack again, and have been or- 
 
66 i^orgi:t-me:-nots oi^ the civil war. 
 
 dered into the entrenchments, but they have not made 
 an attack yet. 
 
 Gen. Magruder says that if they do not attack us 
 to-day, that he will them to-morrow. We are exactly 
 on the battle ground of Washington and Cornwallis, 
 but all that remains to be seen are the old breastworks 
 of the British, which lie immediately behind ours. 
 The Yankees hold the same position that Washington 
 did. There is also the place where Cornwallis sur- 
 rendered his sword to Washington. Yorktown is the 
 oldest place I ever saw. I do not believe that there 
 is a single house that has been built in fifty years. As 
 I was walking through the town, I chanced to come 
 upon an old grave yard, that had gone into entire ruin. 
 There could be seen the tombstone of the Revolution- 
 ary soldier, citizen and foreigner. The oldest one was 
 dated 1727, that was the tombstone of an old lady 
 sixty years old, and another of a president of his 
 majesty's council in Virginia. He died in 1753, and 
 all the rest of nearly the same date. It was a perfect 
 pleasure to me to look over the old place, such a con- 
 trast to the clay hills of Manassas. I feel nearer 
 home, but still I am a long ways off. I am wanted 
 now, as they are continually detailing men for some- 
 thing or other. I will send the letter I wrote the other 
 day. When the battle closes I will write again. 
 
 Give my love to all. 
 
 Your loving son, 
 
 George. 
 
 P. S. I have not heard from Walter yet, except 
 from a man that came from the hospital, he says that 
 his hand is nearly well. 
 
LETTlSRS I^ROM GEORGE^ AND WALTER. 67 
 
 Richmond, Va., June 15, 1862. 
 Dear Mother: 
 
 I hope you are not uneasy about me because I have 
 not written before. I knew if I wrpte it would take 
 a week for you to get it, so I put it off till I could send 
 it by Mr. Albert Farmer, who will go tomorrow. The 
 Surgeon of the hospital has given me a passport to 
 stay wherever I please in the city and report to him 
 every week. I believe I should go crazy if I had to 
 stay out in the hospital where everything is so dull and 
 disheartening. In fact I don't believe I am the same 
 being I was two weeks ago, at least I don't think as 
 I used to and things don't seem as they did. I don't 
 believe I will ever get over the death of George. The 
 more I think of him the more it affects me, and unless 
 I am in some battle and excitement I am eternally 
 thinking of the last moments of his life. How he 
 must have suffered, if he was conscious of it. I shall 
 never forget it. I think a long letter from some of 
 you would make me feel so much better. I shall send 
 by Mr. Farmer my watch, sleeve buttons, also the shirt 
 I wore off. Everything I ought to have left at home 
 I brought away and a great many things I ought to 
 have brought I left behind. I only brought one flannel 
 shirt, and by the way I'll send this one back and try 
 this summer without them, as they are very heavy for 
 summer wear. The war news you read every day in 
 the papers, but Capt. Billy Brown came down from 
 Gordonville with some of Jackson's prisoners. He 
 says he was in Lynchburg. Twenty-two hundred were 
 sent in and that thirteen hundred were on the way. 
 
68 IfORGET-ME^-NOTS OF THE^ CIVIL WAR. 
 
 The Yankees that are near Richmond, we don't hear 
 anything of, everything is quiet. Please some of you 
 write me soon. 
 
 Your loving son, 
 
 Walter. 
 
 Hkad Quarters, Anderson Brigade, 
 Ripley Division, August 11, 1862. 
 My Dear Mother: 
 
 I am sorry I have kept you waiting so long before 
 writing to you, but I thought I would wait until I could 
 have a talk with General Anderson to find out what I 
 was to do before writing. I sent word by John Hines, 
 also Dr. Barham, that I was well and for them to tell 
 you all the news. When I arrived at the Camp of our 
 Regiment it was gone to Malvern Hill to have a fight 
 with the Yankees. They did not return in a day or 
 two. General Anderson went to Richmond immedi- 
 ately on business, so I did not have an opportunity of 
 speaking with him until this morning. He was per- 
 fectly willing for me to come back into the office, so 
 I commenced duty this morning. We have a very 
 pleasant place for our quarters, a large two story house 
 with plenty of shade, in an open field, where we have 
 the breezes from every direction. 
 
 I don't know yet, but I may come up here to mess 
 and sleep, though I thought I would wait a while. I 
 haven't slept in a tent since I've been in camp, but 
 once. That was last night. It rained yesterday morn- 
 ing, and the ground was wet, and the air rather cold, 
 so I thought I would go in the tent, as it was con- 
 
I^^TTERS FROM Gi:ORGE: AND WAI^TE^R. 69 
 
 venient. I shall go in bathing tonight to cool off, and 
 sleep out doors. We have an excellent place for that 
 purpose, that is bathing. It's been awfully hot here 
 today. I believe it is warmer here than at home. 
 
 General G. W. Smith was to-day assigned to the 
 command of our Division. I understand he is an ex- 
 cellent officer. Some of our regiments in this brigade 
 have received their conscripts. They are a very good 
 looking set of men seen drilling in a field, as they 
 were this morning. It looks right funny to see men 
 so green, but I suppose all of us were so at first, and 
 we ought not to make fun of them. Dossey's Regi- 
 ment is only about half mile from here. He has been 
 to see me twice since I have been here. I went over to 
 see him last Saturday. He was very well. I went up 
 to see Dunham when I passed through Richmond, but 
 he had gone home the week before, so I was disap- 
 pointed. Give my best respects to all friends, and my 
 love to all the family, some of you write often and tell 
 me everything that happens about town. 
 
 Goodbye, as ever, 
 
 Your loving son, 
 
 Walter. 
 
 P. S. I've got to endorse this letter for the want 
 of stamps. I haven't written any in so long a time 
 that my hand is as stiff as if I had been mauling rails, 
 you can readily see the difference now and some time 
 ago. I hope it will soon get better. 
 
 I forgot to tell you that our whole brigade was 
 throwing up breastworks every day, about two miles 
 from here, that is the only duty they do now, no guard 
 duty. 
 
70 forgkt-me-nots of the civiiv war. 
 
 He:ad Quarters, Anderson Brigade, 
 
 August 15, 1862. 
 My Dear Mother: 
 
 As Mr. Parker will leave in the morning for home, 
 I thought I would avail myself of the opportunity to 
 let you hear from me. There is nothing new to write 
 in the way of ''War News." You hear everything that 
 we do, and that's in the papers. Everything on our 
 lines is quiet. We were put under marching orders 
 a day or two ago, with the expectation of making 
 another march to "Malvern Hill," but the Yankees 
 left and it saved us the trouble of running them away. 
 Eight hundred of the Brigade are still working on 
 the breastworks, some two miles below here. I am 
 in hopes the Yankees will never get near enough to 
 Richmond for us to have to fight behind them. The 
 other regiment in the Brigade has received their con- 
 scripts, ours is the smallest one and we haven't re- 
 ceived a single one, and I hope we won't. 
 
 General Anderson was making a calculation this 
 morning and he says that we have lost 226 men, killed 
 and died from their wounds, since the day before we 
 went into the fight at ''Seven Pines." The Regiment 
 is now under command of Pat Simms. All of our 
 company are in very good health. I don't believe that 
 we have a single man on the sick list, and I believe it 
 is owing in a great degree to the good water we get. 
 It is the best we have had since we've been in Vir- 
 ginia. I am getting along very well indeed, enjoy- 
 ing excellent health, and have a very pleasant time. 
 
 We have very little writing to do, not half as much 
 
i.e:tte;rs From ge:orge and wai,te:r. 71 
 
 as we had at Manassas. General Anderson has no 
 Adj. General yet. I would not be surprised if he 
 was not waiting for Dunham to get well. I believe 
 he likes Dunham better as an officer than any man in 
 thie Brigade. He has one of his brothers (Walker) 
 as one of his Aides. I wish you would please look 
 in my trunk and send me that brown veil that you 
 will find. I want it to put over my face when I take 
 a nap in the morning, to keep off the flies. You 
 never saw any flies yet, you can measure them by the 
 bushel here. The mosquitoes are terrible here, too. I 
 shall put it over my face when I sleep out of doors, 
 and that's every night that it don't rain. I've just 
 learned from Mr. Parker that little Leon was dead. 
 Poor little fellow, I never thought that when I left 
 home it would be the last time I should see him. 
 
 Give my love to all the family, my respects to all 
 my friends. Write soon, tell me all the news. 
 Your affectionate son, 
 
 Walter. 
 P. S. Please send the veil by the first one coming 
 to our camp. Give my respects to all the boys that 
 you see. 
 
 Head Quarters, Anderson Brigade, 
 30 Miles From Richmond on Manapas 
 Railroad, August 23rd, 1862. 
 My Dear Mother: 
 
 This is the first opportunity that I have had to 
 write to you since we left our camp near Richmond. 
 Mr. Christman left us, or rather parted from us, in 
 
72 i^ORGE:T-ME:-NOTS OF THE CIVII. WAR. 
 
 Richmond as we passed through on our march. Blake 
 and myself did not get the barrel that was sent by Mr. 
 Christman, though we had just as much fruit and 
 Irish potatoes (that the company received) as we 
 could eat. We left the very next morning after the 
 night Mr. Christman arrived. The first day we 
 marched about 14 miles and camped in an open field, 
 the next day we march all day until dark. We 
 stopped, ate our supper, spread our blankets and was 
 just going to sleep, nearly every man exhausted, when 
 the drum sounded and the order given for every man 
 to be under arms. In ten minutes the brigade marched 
 off and we continued the march until nearly day. The 
 next morning, that is those that kept up, (the road for 
 ten miles was strewn with men who had fallen out of 
 ranks from exhaustion). We are now encamped at 
 the place we arrived at that night. We have been here 
 three days and it is impossible to tell when we will 
 leave. This is a very important position for the Aides 
 of General Jackson. The Yankees are about twelve 
 miles from us and it was supposed that they would 
 make an attack at this point, is the reason we were in 
 such a hurry to get here that night. We would have 
 made a very poor stand if they had. I don't suppose 
 we had more than one third of the men when we 
 arrived here that night, when we came through Rich- 
 mond. I had a very good opportunity of judging as 
 our company was detailed that day as a war guard 
 of the Brigade, to prevent straggling, and I marched 
 behind with them for company. It's no use trying to 
 make a broken down man get up and march. We 
 
I^l^TTERS FROM GEORGE AND WAI^TER. 73 
 
 didn't know but what the Yankees were near or ad- 
 vancing on us, but the men would He right down side of 
 the road and swear they could not go one foot far- 
 ther, Yankees or no Yankees. They are still coming 
 in though it has been three days ago. 
 
 You may say what you please about marching 
 twenty or thirty miles a day in warm weather, but I 
 don't believe in it. The last day we marched twenty- 
 six miles, we started at daylight and didn't stop until 
 nearly day break the next morning, with about one 
 third of the men, when we got to the end of our route, 
 we had when we started and they were good for noth- 
 ing, with their feet all blistered and sore. Mine have 
 just got so I can walk without limping. You may 
 direct your next letter to Richmond as heretofore, put- 
 ting on the back "Smith's Division," and I reckon it 
 will be forwarded. We have a very pleasant place to 
 camp. I wouldn't care if we were to stay here for a 
 month. General Anderson and his Staff are in tents 
 at present, no house being near. Col. Grimes arrived 
 this morning. The men are all very glad to see him 
 return. They all love him since the fights that he has 
 led them in. Give my love to all the family. Tell 
 sister to write. I have writen, I believe, three letters 
 home and haven't received but one. 
 
 Your affectionate son, 
 
 Walter. 
 
74 forgkt-md-nots of the: civiiv war. 
 
 He:ad Quarters, Anderson's Brigade, 
 South Side of Potomac, Opposite 
 Berlin, Loudon Co., Sept. 5, 1862. 
 My Dear Mother: 
 
 I guess you are all very anxious about me, that is 
 to know my whereabouts. Since I last wrote you I 
 have been through the most hardships that I ever have 
 before. Today makes eleven successive days that we 
 have been on the march, without resting a day since 
 we left Anderson's station, the place from which I last 
 wrote you. We are now on the side south of the Poto- 
 mac, opposite a place called Berlin, where there is 
 some 'Yankees, don't know how many. We have our 
 brigade and a tolerable good force of Artillery at 
 this point. What we intend to do or where we are 
 going, it's impossible to say. The men are all very 
 anxious to drop over into Maryland and I don't know 
 but what that will be our next move. We have just 
 stopped for the night, after a march of about twenty 
 miles. I'm in a hurry to finish before dark, as we 
 have no candles or lightwood. Mr. Ed Marsh will 
 leave for North Carolina in the morning, he will 
 carry our mail. We haven't had a chance to send off 
 our mail before, since we waded the Rapidan River. 
 Day before yesterday we marched over the battle 
 ground that Jackson had his last fight on. All of our 
 men had been buried, but the Yankees lay just as they 
 were killed. I never saw such a scene before. I saw 
 just from the road, as I did not go out of my way to 
 see any more. It must have been nearly a thousand. 
 Our wagon actually ran over the dead bodies in the 
 
IvETTERS FROM GE:0RGE) AND WAI^TEJR. 75 
 
 road before they would throw them out, or go around 
 them. The trees were hterally shot all to pieces. The 
 wounded Yankees were all over the woods, in squads 
 of a dozen or more, under some shady tree without 
 any quard of any kind to guard them. I recollect one 
 squad on the side of the road with their bush shelter in 
 ten steps of a dead Yankee, that had not been buried 
 and was horribly mangled. I don't suppose the dead 
 Yankees of that fight will ever be buried. It will be 
 an awful job to those who do it, if it is ever done. 
 There is some five or six of our company that have 
 not come up yet. Blake is among the number. They 
 are not sick, merely broken down. The Second N. C. 
 Regiment haven't more than half of the men with 
 them now, that they had when they left Richmond. 
 It has been an awfully hard march. Two men died in 
 one day from sun stroke. The weather is not so warm 
 now as some days ago. It takes two or three blankets 
 to keep us warm at night, it is so cool. The days are 
 very warm. I hope to gracious that we will stay 
 here tomorrow and rest a while, it's a beautiful place 
 on the side of the Blue Ridge. The sun will not 
 strike the ground where our headquarters are during 
 the whole day. I don't know where to tell you to di- 
 rect your next letter. Richmond, though, I reckon. 
 Give my love to all the family. Goodbye. I'll now 
 cook my supper. I'll have an excellent one tonight, 
 chicken, and sugar and coffee and biscuit. 
 
 Yours, etc., 
 
 Walter. 
 I bought sugar at IZj^c per pound and coffee at 25c 
 pound this morning in a store on our way. 
 
76 forge:t-me:-nots o^ the civii. war. 
 
 Head Quarter's Anderson's Brigade, 
 Mar. Bunker's Hill, Va., 
 
 Sept. 29, 1862. 
 My Dear Mother: 
 
 It has been some time since I last wrote you. I 
 hope you have not been uneasy about me, for I have 
 never been in better health in my life. During the 
 past two months we have been on the march almost 
 constantly, sometimes resting one or two days, but 
 never longer. 
 
 On Sunday, the 14th of September, we left our camp 
 at 4 o'clock in the morning and marched some six 
 miles to the top of the Blue Ridge and drew up in 
 line of battle. We were not long waiting for the 
 Yankees, they came in very large columns and we 
 fought until after dark. That night our troops fell 
 back through Boonsboro some few miles and drew up 
 in line of battle little after sunrise, very little fighting 
 was done on that day, only some cannonading. We 
 continued in our position until the 17th inst., when 
 we had almost a general engagement. The line of 
 battle of our Brigade was some two hundred yards in 
 front of a house in which General D. H. Hill and 
 General Anderson had their Head Quarters. The 
 fight commenced in the morning before I awoke (long 
 before sunrise), soon after light the wounded from the 
 Artillery commenced coming in, pretty soon the 
 wounded infantry came in by the dozens. There 
 wasn't a surgeon on the battle field from our Brigade, 
 but Gus Stith. He stayed there to the last. He, his 
 two assistants and myself dressed the wounds until 
 
le:tt]e:rs i^rom george: and waivTE^r. in 
 
 the Yankees got in 30 yards of the house. ' General 
 Anderson was anxious to get off before the Yankees 
 got nearer. He did not want to be taken prisoner by 
 them. He would prefer being shot through the head, 
 so Capt. Gales, his A. A. General, myself and two 
 other men of the Ambulance Corps carried him 
 through a field that looked like it was impossible for 
 man to walk ten steps without being killed, though we 
 got out safe. A piece of shell struck me on the knee, 
 which occasioned some little inconvenience for a few 
 days, but nothing else. The house in which we were 
 was the hottest part of the battle field, we were exposed 
 to a cross fire of two Yankee Batteries and from the 
 front by musket balls. The house, kitchen, trees and 
 everything else was torn and shot all to pieces. We 
 had a large pot full of chicken on the stove, cooking 
 for dinner, when a bomb took off one-half of the 
 kitchen and turned the stove bottom upwards. That 
 stopped the splendid dinner we had in preparation. 
 You must get Gus Stith to tell you all about our cam- 
 paign, adventures, etc. He can do it better than I 
 can write it. Every day's march through Maryland 
 I could write a long letter, but when it is all past and 
 forgotten I can't think of one thing that I wished tq 
 write. If I ever live to get home I can think of one 
 thing at a time, and tell you a great many little inci- 
 dents of interest. The Northern part of Virginia and 
 some parts of Maryland is the most beautiful country 
 that I ever saw. I don't know how it is in the winter, 
 but from the looks of the soil, it's as muddy as Ma- 
 nassas, I reckon. We (our company) lost several in 
 
78 ?orge:t-m^-nots o^ th^ civil war. 
 
 the two battles, none killed, but some badly wounded, 
 others taken prisoners or have not come up yet, may 
 be wounded and left on the battlefield and had to be 
 left in the hands of the Yankees when we fell back 
 this side of the Potomac. We are now encamped on 
 the Turnpike from Martinsburg to Winchester, some 
 ten miles from the latter place. 
 
 I don't know where to tell you to direct your next 
 letter, Richmond, though, I reckon. Our mail for this 
 Brigade is at Winchester, we will get that to-day. I 
 hope to get some letters from home when it comes. I 
 must close this so as to have it ready when Gus Stith 
 starts, he can't tell when, so I must have it ready. I 
 may get something in the mail before this gets off. 
 
 Your loving son. 
 
 Waiter 
 
 Near Bunker Hill, Va., October 1st, 1862. 
 Dear Mother: 
 
 I have just received a letter from you, dated Sept. 
 2nd. It is the first word I have heard from home since 
 I left Richmond (I forgot I did receive one letter down 
 at Anderson's station, 30 miles from Richmond). It 
 appears that you have not received the letter I wrote 
 from the Potomac, opposite Berlin, though you must 
 have gotten it before now. I heard that Pat Simms 
 will be in Wilson for a short time as detail for our 
 winter clothing. He can tell you all about that trip. 
 It has been so long that I have forgotton almost all 
 about it. I shall send this by Dr. Stith, as he starts in 
 the morning. You can get him to tell you a good deal 
 
I.E:TTE:RS I^ROM GEORGE and WALTER. 79 
 
 of news if you choose. Dr. Stith and Pat Wooten 
 came up this morning. I haven't been up to see them 
 yet. I must sleep and stay at head quarters nearly all 
 the time, as it is more convenient and I get plenty of 
 something to eat, and often something extra. If Pat 
 Simms goes home, as I think he will, you may send 
 me my two flannel shirts and my drawers, also two 
 pair of woolen socks. I reckon I will hgive to make 
 out with shoes this winter, though if you can have 
 me a good pair of winter sewed boots made (large 6s) 
 you may send them also, and the price. If I can't 
 wear them myself I can sell them for any price I may 
 choose to ask. See if Pat is willing to bring them 
 first and if he is certain that he can get them here with- 
 out being lost. Write often by some of the boys that 
 are coming. 
 
 Your affectionate son, 
 
 Walter. 
 
 Head Quarters, Anderson's Brigade, 
 
 November 14, 1862. 
 My Dear Mother: 
 
 As I have another good opportunity of sending a 
 letter the other side of Richmond to be mailed, I 
 thought I would avail myself of it. One of our sur- 
 geons will leave in the morning for North Carolina, so 
 that I can have my letter mailed very near home, it 
 will stand less chance of being lost. I have neglected 
 to write to you longer than I wished, waiting for an 
 opportunity of sending it by some one. This is the 
 first chance that has occurred. The letters that are 
 
80 FORGET- ME:-N0TS 01^ THE CIVIL WAR. 
 
 mailed here for North CaroHna, not one half of them 
 ever get there, so I made up my mind not to write ex- 
 cept when I knew you would receive it. We have 
 been through a good many hardships since I last wrote 
 to you, tho' we haven't had any fighting, that is, our 
 Brigade has not, tho' we have lain in line of battle 
 several days and nights at the time, waiting for the 
 advance of tjie enemy. The strongest position I think 
 our Division ever occupied was on the mountains be- 
 hind rock fences, near Paris. We stayed there one 
 day and night, but the Yankees didn't come. We left 
 there and marched to Fort Royal, there we laid in line 
 of battle two days and one night. Little after dark 
 the second day we got orders to cross the Shenandoah 
 River and take up camp some mile or two off for the 
 night. The men were cold and hungry and some- 
 what expecting the Yankees that night, when the word 
 was given they started at a double quick for the river, 
 some half mile off, and in they went, half waist 
 deep, the water was freezing cold and the wind almost 
 cutting you in two. I guess you know something atout 
 the mountain winds in the winter. For the next few 
 days we had some rest, but we don't lie idle in camp 
 long at a time. Night before last we marched seven 
 miles, tore up and burned railroads all night, and 
 marched back ten miles the next day. To-day is a 
 beautiful sunshiny one, and I hope we will remain 
 quiet for the men's sake. We have had one snow some 
 two or three inches deep, though it melted ver}^ soon, 
 there are thousands of barefooted men in Virginia and 
 I do hope we will have pleasant weather until they 
 
I.^TTe:RS l^ROM GE:0RGE: and WAIvTER. 81 
 
 can get shoes. We have a good many in our Brigade 
 stark barefooted, and have not had a shoe on since 
 we left Richmond some months ago. John Burton, 
 poor fellow, was paroled and came up with us some 
 week or two back, looking dreadfully. He has gone 
 home on a furlough. He was barefooted and almost 
 clothesless. My feet can just be said to be off the ground 
 and that is all. They are no protection from wet 
 weather. I hope Pat Simms will come soon and have 
 my boots with him. I am glad you sent me a pair 
 of pants, as these are entirely worn out. I have 
 been patching them up for some time. There is two 
 big patches on the knees as large as your two hands, 
 put on with blue cloth, you recollect the pants are 
 brown. I never thought to mention any clothes in 
 my letter. I hope you thought of them. I need a 
 pair. I also need an overcoat, but I will have to wait 
 until the Regiment get their clothes before I can get 
 one. I hope before one month more passes we will 
 be on the railroad somewhere, so I can get something 
 good to eat once more. I think I will know how to 
 appreciate something good after living on beef and 
 bread for so long. I want some oysters and sweet 
 potatoes and other winter delicacies so much. I hope, 
 if we ever do get where I can change my diet, I will 
 be able to stop the diarrhoea which has been reducing 
 me for some time. I've fallen off considerable since 
 we left Richmond. With that exception I have noth- 
 ing to complain of. In a great many respects I fare 
 a great deal better than the officers of the regiment 
 do. I have better fare and not half the duty to do. 
 
82 I^ORGET-ME-NOTS 01^ THE CIVIL WAR. 
 
 The other night, when all the men were at work on 
 the railroad, I was with our wagon and had as com- 
 fortable a night's sleep as I ever do. I very often get 
 a chance to ride on the march, too, for the last sev- 
 eral marches I have ridden Col. Grimes' extra horse. 
 Since we left Richmond we have crossed twenty 
 streams waist deep and very often in the night, and 
 I have never waded one yet. I always get a ride 
 across, some way or another. 
 
 We will have a general change at Headquarters in 
 a few days. General Ramseur is assigned to this 
 Brigade and I expect he will bring his own Staff with 
 him. I'll stand as good a chance of remaining as any 
 of them and I think I will be very apt to remain, at 
 least I shall try to do so. I hope he will be as clever 
 as the other commanders have been. I like Col. 
 Grimes very much and I think he is more entitled to 
 the promotion of Brigadier than Ramseur, who was 
 only a Captain of Artillery, though they say he is a 
 West Pointer, and a very good officer. I hope he will 
 prove himself to be as good as General Anderson was, 
 though that is hardly possible. I don't think he had 
 his equal in the Confederate Army. I hope Dr. Har- 
 rell will pass his examination and get in the army as 
 surgeon. It is the easiest and most comfortable posi- 
 tion there is in the Army. 
 
 Tell Mr. Rhodes if I was in his place I would try 
 and get in a new company, one that has not been in 
 long. Dr. Bullock's Company would suit him better 
 than any other. He thinks that we've got a good one 
 and a picket company, but it is not what it was, and he 
 
IvETTE^RS from GEORGE AND WALTER. 83 
 
 would be out of place all the time if he would try to 
 keep up with men who had been playing the old soldier 
 for nearly two years, I would rather be dead than 
 in the place of some of the Conscripts sent to our 
 Regiment, they look like they wanted to die, they felt 
 so bad. Please let me know in your next whether 
 you ever received my watch or not. Fve asked in 
 every letter and you've never told me yet. Write soon 
 
 to your 
 
 Affectionate son, 
 
 Walter. 
 
 Give my love to all the family, tell some of them to 
 
 write. I haven't sent a letter home yet with a stamp 
 
 on it, it is because we can't possibly get them and I 
 
 know it makes no difference with you. 
 
 Headquarters Fourth Brigade. 
 
 November 27, 1862. 
 My Dear Mother: 
 
 I received your letter yesterday, and also one from 
 brother by Mr. Gorman. I was very glad to hear 
 from you, as I had not received any news from home 
 in some time. He handed me the gloves also, which 
 you sent by him. Nothing ever came in better, time 
 in the world. I had been trying my best to get a pair 
 of some kind ever since cold weather set in, but could 
 not, gloves such as you sent me sell for $3.00 in this 
 country, and everything else in proportion. The last 
 letter that I wrote home, sent to Richmond by Capt. 
 John Grimes to be mailed, was from our Camp near 
 Strasburg, Va. We left there on Friday, the 21st, 
 
84 I^ORGET-ME-NOTS 01^ THK CIVIL WAR. 
 
 and arrived here on Tuesday evening, the 25th, mak- 
 ing a march of over one hundred miles in four days. 
 It is the best marching that we have ever done, it's 
 because we are going towards home, I reckon, that 
 the men did so well. There are hundreds of them 
 barefooted and ice on the ground all day. General 
 Hill issued an order yesterday requiring all the bare- 
 footed men to make sandals of raw hides with the 
 hair on the inside. It answers the purpose very well. 
 It's a wonder the idea had not been thought of sooner, 
 before the men suffered so much. Gorman says that 
 Pat Simms will be here to-day with the things for the 
 Regiment. I hope he will be, for I need my boots very 
 badly, also my pants. I shall draw a pair of pants 
 from the Regimental clothing, also a pair of shoes. 
 I bought me a Yankee overcoat, a very comfortable 
 one, for $12.50, a better coat than our men draw at 
 more money. We are now on our way to Hanover 
 Junction, some fifty miles off. We have stopped here 
 to transport our sick on the cars ahead of us, though 
 we have been here going on two days, a longer time 
 than would be required for that purpose. We have no 
 idea how long we will stay here. From what you write 
 about your exchanging farms, I think you made a 
 very good bargain. I wish I could be with you to 
 help you fix it up. The boys are all well as could be 
 expected. Virgil Stevens looks thin from diarrhoea. 
 Tom Stith looks as fat as a pig. Buck Hansill is the 
 same old ''Buck," though Marshbourns, that is Sam, is 
 well and tough, Jim I don't recollect having seen for 
 some time. I really don't know whether he is in the 
 
i,e:tt^rs i^rom ge:orge: and wai,te:r. 85 
 
 company or not. I did write to you and intended to 
 send it by Ed Gordon, but he left just before I car- 
 ried my letters up to the Company to give him. The 
 next time any one leaves Wilson for the Company, 
 please send me some kind of tonic bitters. I need 
 something of the kind. 
 
 Give my love to all, and believe me as ever. 
 Your affectionate son, 
 
 Walter. 
 
 Head Quarters Fourth Brigade, 
 Hill's Div., Near Gunney Depot, 
 12 Miles From Fredericksburg, 
 
 December 2nd., 1862. 
 My Dear Mother: 
 
 Once more settled in camp for a little while, long 
 enough to write, at least, I thought I would let you 
 know where we are and what we are doing. We are 
 on the railroad between Richmond and Fredericksburg, 
 some twelve miles from the latter place. What we 
 are doing, one hasn't the remotest idea. We can't 
 tell whether we are going to fight here or not, or how 
 long we shall stay here. I think the most of our army 
 is in this vicinity and some part of it is constantly 
 in motion. Ewell's Division is now passing our en- 
 campment. I'm in hopes we will stay here until our 
 men get their clothing. Ed Gordon has just returned, 
 though he does not bring any news from home. He 
 says that Pat Simms will start back to-day. He 
 certainly has appointed enough times for starting to 
 have been here long before now, if he is not able to 
 
86 forge:t-me:-nots of the: civile war. 
 
 bring the things, why doesn't he let some one else 
 come with them. The men have been kept out of their 
 clothing long enough. May Warren, I understand, is 
 willing to bring them. If you should receive this be- 
 fore any of them leaves, please send my watch and 
 chain by him, I need the use of it very much and I 
 don't think there is any danger of my losing it or being 
 killed this winter or fall, campaign is about over. If 
 both of them have left, please send it by the first 
 reliable person coming to our company. Please have 
 a key fitted to it and send that also, also a piece of 
 buckskin in my trunk. Wrap them all up together 
 and enjoin the one that brings it to be very careful 
 with it, and not to lose it. I have not time to write 
 much more, as Major Miller, who is going to take my 
 letter to Richmond to be mailed, is in a hurry to go 
 to the depot, for fear of being left. I received the 
 things which you sent by Buck Hansill, also the gloves 
 you sent by John Gorman, all I need now are the things 
 which you are going to send by Pat Simms. Give my 
 love to all the family and believe me, as ever, your 
 
 Affectionate son, 
 
 Walter. 
 
 P. S. Write often and tell me all the news about 
 home. Wrap my watch up very securely and direct 
 it to me. Don't forget to send me a key for it, as I 
 have none. 
 
LETTERS I^ROM GEORGE AND WALTER. 87 
 
 WiLLiAMSPORT, Md., July 8, 1863. 
 My Dear Mother: 
 
 As I think there will be an opportunity of sending 
 off a letter in a day or two, I believe I will drop you 
 a few lines to let you know of some of my aaventures 
 since I last wrote you (Winchester). We have had 
 rain every day since we left Winchester. I've been 
 marching about ten to twenty miles a day. After the 
 first two days our squad of two hundred dwindled 
 down to about fifteen men, most of whom were 
 officers. A Lieutenant from Texas commanded us. 
 We were bound to form squads of some strength to 
 prevent ''bushwhackers" and the enraged citizens from 
 attacking us on the road. Last summer was noth- 
 ing at all to this one in Pennsylvania. Although 
 I did not have the pleasure of going into 
 Yankeeland with them, I was following them 
 in the rear and could see the havoc they did. 
 The squad that I was in, the first night we 
 got into Pennsylvania, killed a hog near a man's house 
 and then sent two men to him to borrow cooking uten- 
 sils to cook it in, most of them would make the expres- 
 sion, "I reckon you got your rations out of the field." 
 
 The Fourth of July we got in eight miles of the bat- 
 tlefield, all that day the citizens tried their best to pre- 
 vent our going any farther. Told us we were certainly 
 gone chickens if we went any farther, that the Yan- 
 kees were on picket some little distance off in large 
 force. We didn't put any confidence in their chat but 
 kept on. The last day of the three days' big fight, we 
 got within a few miles of the battlefield, when we met 
 
85 i^ORGET-ME:-NOTS O^ THE: CIVII, WAR. 
 
 General Imboden's Cavalry, the advance guard of our 
 whole wagon train, who turned us back by orders from 
 General Lee, ordering us at the same time to keep with 
 the train, which did not stop until we arrived at this 
 place, we (the wagon train) intended to ford the river 
 here and again set foot on Virginia soil, but it has 
 rained so much we have been waiting four days for 
 the river to fall low enough to ford it. The Yankees 
 attacked us here day before yesterday with the inten- 
 tion of capturing us, but they were driven off. I can't 
 form the most distant idea what the army is going 
 to do, whether they intend to stay this side of the river 
 or go back into Virginia. There is not a day passes 
 but you hear of fighting going on. You don't feel 
 right unless you hear cannonading going on. The 
 stillness doesn't seem natural. There are five or six 
 thousand Yankees here waiting for the river to fall 
 to cross. 
 
 When I have more time I will write again. Captain 
 Thompson was wounded slightly and has crossed the 
 river, I don't know with what intention. Buck Nolly 
 was killed in our company. 
 
 Write to me as soon as you get this and let me 
 hear from you all, direct to Richmond and I will get 
 it. This letter is No. 3. 
 
 Walter. 
 
 Camp Ne:ar Orange C. H., August 2nd, 1863. 
 My Dear Mother: 
 
 I received your letter day before yesterday, just as 
 we received orders to march. We marched about fif- 
 
i,e:tte:rs i^rom ge:orge: and wai,te:r. 89 
 
 teen miles yesterday through the hottest sun that I 
 ever felt. The men were constantly dropping out 
 from overheat, and one or two died from the effects. 
 We are in camp to-day, but have orders to hold our- 
 selves in readiness to move at a moment's notice. The 
 report is the Yankees are advancing on Culpepper. I 
 guess we will leave here tonight or before day in the 
 morning. This army is seeing a very hard time at 
 present. Nothing to eat but beef and flour and the 
 hardest marching that this army has ever done. At 
 the time we crossed the mountains at Fort Royal, we 
 marched from 4 o'clock one morning until day break 
 next morning. We were drawn up in line of battle 
 twice during the time, once we had a very sharp fight 
 between our sharpshooters and the Yankees. Our 
 Brigade was in line on an edge of a mountain over- 
 looking the whole scene. I don't think it will be long 
 before we shall have a fight, from our present move- 
 ments. I thought I told you in the letter I wrote from 
 near Hargerstown, while in line, that I was with the 
 Regiment. You must have missed getting that letter. 
 This makes the fifth I have written since I left home. 
 When I got with the regiment everything had so much 
 changed at headquarters, new men detailed, and my 
 not knowing any of them, I concluded to go back with 
 the company. I have been doing duty with the Com- 
 pany ever since I got back and I believe I feel better 
 satisfied. Jim Gay got back to the regiment this morn- 
 ing, left Wilson last Wednesday. He has told us all 
 about the Yankee raid. 
 
90 I^ORCxKT-MK-NOTS OF THE CIVIL WAR. 
 
 I have been suffering some little from pain in the 
 feet, caused by hard marching. The doctor told me 
 yesterday that I might put my things in the ambu- 
 lance. At night when I went after them, some one 
 had stolen my knapsack with all my clothes, except 
 what I have on, and my shawl. I'll try and make out 
 with what I have until cold weather comes on. You 
 may send me two pair cotton and two pair woolen 
 socks the first opportunity you have. That will be 
 the first thing that I will need. Dossey came over to 
 see me this morning and read a letter to me that he 
 got from Cousin Claudia yesterday. 
 
 There is some little talk sometimes of our Brigade 
 being ordered to North Carolina. I wish to gracious we 
 could be. I'll bet the Yankees \youldn't cut up there 
 like they have been. To-day is Sunday and one of 
 the hottest that I ever felt. We are in a piece of woods 
 wdiere there isn't one breath of air stirring. If we 
 do have to march to-day, half of the men will give 
 out from overheat. I would much rather march two 
 nights than one day. You may send me that home- 
 spun shirt in my trunk, at the same time you do the 
 socks — that checked one. I hope the authorities will 
 send some troops home to prevent the Yankees 
 from making a raid through there. Write whenever 
 there is anything to tell me about home and you all. 
 
 Your affectionate son, 
 
 Walter. 
 
I,e:TTERS from GEORGE AND WAI^TER. 91 
 
 Camp on Rapidan River, Six Miles 
 North o^ Rapidan Station, Sept. 22, 1863. 
 My Dear Mother: 
 
 I had. intended to write you the very day we left 
 Orange Court House, but the movement prevented 
 me. We left there yesterday week, marched towards 
 Rapidan, camped near the river for two days, hearing 
 the cannonading between our forces and the Yankees 
 the whole time, neither crossing in any force. Our 
 cavalry made a dash across the river, taking some 
 thirty prisoners. The Second North Carolina Cavalry 
 are on the other side of the river now and is thought 
 to be cut off. We are now eighteen miles from Orange 
 Court House on the Rapidan river. I can't 
 learn the nam.e of the ford. Our division 
 is in line of battle, about one mile from the 
 river. We have thrown up some breastworks 
 and we have an excellent position. All I 
 hope is that the Yankees may come across, for I 
 feel confident we can whip them worse than they 
 have ever been yet. A deserter who came across says 
 they have only two corps and that they are most con- 
 scripts. He says they are deserting by the hundreds. 
 Last evening our division moved in a piece of woods 
 some three hundred yards in rear of our breastworks. 
 I suppose it was done that the men might keep more 
 comfortable. Night before last we had a pretty smart 
 frost and the wind blew like winter. I spent two thirds 
 of the night by the fire to keep warm. My pair of 
 blankets got left in one of the wagons. 
 
 If you do not have any use for that map of Vir- 
 
92 i?orge:t-me-nots oi^ the civii. war. 
 
 ginia, which you bought last winter, please loan it to 
 me ; send it by Thompson. I will take good care of it 
 and return it. 
 
 In times like this, one blanket is as much as any man 
 wants hung to him, and nine times out of ten he throws 
 that one away during the fight. As soon as we go 
 into camp again I shall have plenty of bedding. When 
 Dr. Thompson comes back, I wish you would send my 
 overcoat. I think I shall need it by then, also one pair 
 of woolen socks. The flannel drawers you may keep 
 until we go into camp. I have no way of carrying 
 them. I never intend to carry another knapsack on 
 my back, as long as I stay in the service. John Val- 
 entine brought the things you sent by him. The shirt 
 fits exactly. You need not trouble about making the 
 other in any hurry. I shall not need it until we go 
 in camp. 
 
 Henry Warren came to us yesterday morning. The 
 bag of potatoes which he brought could not have come 
 in a better time. It was a rich treat, I assure you. 
 We have been lying in line of battle two or three days, 
 living on half cooked rations sent from the wagon 
 yard, and to get a bag of sweet potatoes was a perfect 
 Godsend. We just set around the fire and roasted 
 them last night and talked of the good things at home 
 for a late hour. Tom Stith, Tom Atkinson, Peter 
 Christman and myself compose our mess and whatever 
 either gets, he shares it with the rest. Tom Stith 
 has a trunk of things at Orange Court House, 
 that Henry had to leave, as he had to take 
 it afoot to where he found us; his boy 
 
LETTERS FROM GEORGE AND WALTER. 93 
 
 brought my potatoes. Tell sister that I will 
 write to her soon. I should have written this 
 time, but couldn't get the paper. It took me half an 
 hour to borrow this half sheet. You need not look 
 for me home on a furlough for a long time yet ; there 
 are men in the camp that haven't been home since we 
 came to Virginia. You know I have been home twice. 
 It will be a long time before my time comes around. 
 The next furlough, I expect, will be a wounded or 
 sick one. 
 
 Give my love to all the family and believe me as 
 ever, 
 
 Your affectionate son, 
 
 Walter. 
 
 Camp Near Morton's Ford, 
 
 On Rapidan River, October 5th, 1863. 
 
 My Dear Mother: 
 
 I received your letter of the 23rd yesterday while 
 on picket duty and it seems to me from the way in 
 which you write that you did not receive my last letter. 
 I don't think that it has been two weeks since I wrote 
 you; 'twas soon after Harry Warren got back. We 
 are at the same camp we were when Henry came. Our 
 Brigade does picket on the river at Morton's Ford. 
 We (that is, our Regiment) have to go on every fourth 
 night. Night before last was a terrible night, cold 
 and rainy, and the wind was pretty cutting. Our line 
 is on the river bank, in a cornfield. The Yankees are 
 on the other side, some four hundred yards distance. 
 We have no communication with them, it being against 
 
94 :^orge:t-me:-nots of rut civil war. 
 
 General Ramseur's orders. Battle's Brigade (Ala- 
 bama troops) talk and exchange papers with them 
 every day. They join our line above the ford. When 
 we first went on picket at the river we could hear the 
 Yankees' drums by the hundred. They stopped all 
 at once and we did not hear more than two or three 
 for a whole week. Yesterday morning they opened 
 with their drums again and from the number it would 
 seem that they have a large army across the river. I 
 think they tried to make us believe they had left, but 
 they can't fool General Lee. We have had orders 
 for a week or more to keep two days' rations cooked 
 and be ready to move at a moment's notice. I don't 
 think that we shall remain much longer at this camp. 
 
 Some half-dozen cannons were heard up the river 
 yesterday. I suppose they were signal guns. A pretty 
 good sign of a movement. I hope we will soon do 
 all the fighting that we expect to do this winter, and 
 let us go into winter quarters. The orderly has just 
 come around with orders to be in readiness to move, 
 as the Yankees are advancing and we may probably 
 leave this evening. All the preparation that I have 
 to make is to look up our day's rations of bread. As 
 soon as we go into camp to stay any length of time, 
 I shall be glad to get my flannel drawers. I will let 
 you know. I hope Dr. Thompson will be well enough 
 to come when his furlough is out, and bring my over- 
 coat, also a pair of socks, gloves (if you can find them) 
 and a little box of lip salve. Tom Stith was waiting 
 about a week before he got his things, which Henry 
 Warren brought. He had to leave them at Orange 
 
LETTERS r'ROM GEORGE AND WALTER. 95 
 
 Court House, as he had to foot it about 
 eighteen miles. Col. Grimes got back a few 
 days ago from North Carolina. He was mar- 
 ried while home and he is now a candidate 
 for congress, and I think he will probably be 
 elected. I would like very much to be at home with 
 you to eat some of that nice fruit which you have. 
 Peaches here in camp sell for $2.00 per dozen, so we 
 can't afford to eat as many as we want at that price, 
 or it would take a month's wages to pay for the treat. 
 Blake said for me to tell you to please tell Mr. Rhodes 
 to send him thirty dollars by Thompson, if this reaches 
 you in time; if not, send it by mail. Tom Stith says 
 to tell some of his folks not to send him any blanket 
 as yet. He will let them know. 
 
 I am enjoying excellent health at present. Some- 
 times I am troubled with diarrhoea, but I generally 
 stop it by quit eating beef for a few days. Next 
 time you write to Pussy, give her my best love and 
 tell her I would like so much to see her. Give my 
 love to all the family, and believe me, your sincere 
 and devoted son, 
 
 Walter. 
 
 Much obliged for the paper and envelopes. 
 
 On March Near Rappahannock Sta- 
 tion, Va., October 18, 1863. 
 My Dear Mother: 
 
 I received your very welcome letter and did intend 
 answering it last evening, but we were ordered to 
 move, wdiich prevented me from doing so. We left 
 
96 ^orgi:t-me-nots o^ the civiIv war. 
 
 Rapidan about the 7th inst., and have been on the 
 march ever since, and I beHeve it has been the hardest 
 for the length of time that we have ever had. It was 
 what might be termed a ''flank movement" in every 
 sense of the word. We marched through woods, fields 
 and across branches, creeks and rivers as we came to 
 them, only a few hours behind the Yankees all the 
 time. Last Thursday we were drawn up in line of 
 battle before day and our Division, with our sharp- 
 shooters in front, drove the Yankees through the 
 woods and fields for two or three miles. Our sharp- 
 shooters killed and wounded a great many. Our Brig- 
 ade took thirty or forty prisoners. A day or two be- 
 fore that we surprised a corps of Yankees in camp, 
 hurrying them off rather unceremoniously. We all 
 got our haversacks filled with crackers, which we very 
 much needed, though we haven't suffered for anything 
 to eat on the march. Gen. Ramsieur is very attentive 
 to his men in that respect. Day before yesterday we 
 were in four miles of Manassas. I did wish that we 
 might go that far. I wanted to see the old place so 
 much. 
 
 The rumor in camp is that Gen. Lee has accom- 
 plished everything he intended, that is, to drive the 
 Yankees back and tear up this railroad, which we are 
 doing to perfection ; but for the grading and bent iron 
 you would not know that there ever was a railroad 
 along here. We cut down the telegraph wire also, 
 and carried that along with us. We stopped on the 
 march to-day, about 10 o'clock, after marching about 
 eight miles. What it is for, I can't tell. I suppose 
 
LETTERS ?ROM GEORGE AND WALTER. 97 
 
 something is the matter with the road ahead, or prob- 
 ably the bridge across the Rappahannock needs repair- 
 ing. It is now 4 o'clock. I expect we shall move 
 nearer the river to camp, however it does not make 
 much difference where we stop, as we have rations up 
 till tomorrow evening. I wish you could have seen 
 us cooking up three days' rations the other night, be- 
 fore attacking the Yankees the next day. We have 
 flour and beef to cook and only about half the night 
 to cook them in, without cooking utensils. We made 
 up our dough on our gun cloths and cooked it on bar- 
 rel staves and heads. You would be surprised to see 
 how nice bread can be cooked on a ram rod. I think 
 it is the sweetest bread that I ever ate. I think there 
 must be something in the appetite also. Our beef we 
 broiled on griddle irons made of telegraph wire. I 
 think I was the first in our regiment to make one ; since 
 then nearly every man has one along with him. Col. 
 Grimes detailed a blacksmith and sent him to me to 
 get mine to make him one like it. He said it was the 
 most useful thing he had seen. We cook bread on 
 them also. Speaking of Col. Grimes, he just received 
 a furlough to-day, and will leave for North Carolina 
 in a few days. Dr. Thompson has not arrived yet, 
 nor have we heard from him. I think the fall cam- 
 paign is about over and I hope we will go into winter 
 quarters somewhere on the railroad. I do want some 
 sweet potatoes so much. Give my love to all the 
 family, and believe me as ever, 
 
 Your devoted son, 
 
 WalT]^r. 
 
98 forge:t-me-nots of thk civil war. 
 
 p. S. I am truly glad that Dr. Harrell has got a 
 position as surgeon. I hope he will be pleasantly sit- 
 uated. Please look in the watch pocket of my black 
 satin vest, get my lip salve box, fill it with salve and 
 send it in your next letter. This mountain wind keeps 
 my lips split all to pieces. Tell Mr. Rhodes, Blake says 
 he got the $30.00 safely; much obliged to him. I 
 believe I will send you a Yankee letter that I picked 
 up the other day in the woods while we were pursuing 
 them. I don't think peace is so near at hand as he 
 does. 
 
 Much obliged for this envelope and paper, you got 
 an answer sooner than you otherwise would, there is 
 no suttler along with us and none of the boys carry 
 such things with them, they cost so much, and the 
 first rain would ruin them. 
 
 Camp Near Morton's Ford, Va., 
 
 November 11th, 1863. 
 My Dear Mother: 
 
 We are once more in our same camp on the Rapidan, 
 which we left just a month ago. We had just begun 
 to be comfortable in our winter quarters on the Rap- 
 pahannock when the Yankees run us out. Last Sat- 
 urday, about ten o'clock, the Yankees attacked our 
 picket line on the river, composed of the Second and 
 Thirtieth N. C. Regiments of our Brigade, driving 
 them back, taking a great many of them prisoners. 
 Col. Cox, of the Second, was badly wounded and 
 afterwards died. The attack was a perfect surprise. 
 
LE:TTe:rS I^ROM GEORGE AND WALTER. 99 
 
 We had just drawn a large supply of winter cloth- 
 ing of every kind, and the men were just trying them 
 on when we were ordered to fall in, which we did in 
 double quick time, making for the river line of battle 
 with our sharpshooters in front. 'Twas not long be- 
 fore we came on their skirmishers and a brisk fire 
 commenced, which lasted until dark. Our two lines of 
 battle laid within speaking distance until 12 o'clock that 
 night, when we were very quietly withdrawn, half 
 hour afterwards our sharpshooters followed and we 
 took up our line of march till sun rise, when we were 
 drawn up in line of battle, we stayed until two or three 
 o'clock. The Yankees not coming on us, we started 
 on the march again and never stopped till we crossed 
 the Rapidan. We ate our breakfast Saturday morning 
 in our winter quarters and did not draw a single 
 mouthful to eat, or have any rest except when we were 
 in line of battle (and then we were hard at work 
 throwing up breastworks), until Monday night, ten 
 o'clock. We waded the Rapidan about 9 o'clock the 
 same night. I think it was the hardest time we have 
 ever had, nothing to eat, accompanied with the hard- 
 est marching we ever did. All of our things 
 were left in our winter quarters, expecting to go 
 back there, but we did not, so we lost a good many 
 things which we left behind. I happened to take my 
 shawl and oil cloth along with me, which I saved. I 
 lost my two blankets, a pair of cotton drawers, pair of 
 socks, which I had just drawn (I did not draw any- 
 thing else of the new clothing, which I am glad of, 
 for I should have lost them). I also lost my knapsack, 
 
100 forget-me:-nots of the: civii. war. 
 
 tin plate, tin cup, etc. I saved my overcoat, with all 
 the things you sent by Condon. That scrape has 
 taught me a lesson. I'll bet I never leave anything else 
 of mine behind. I don't care where we are ordered to. 
 Try and get Tom Stith to put the following things 
 in with his own baggage : That worsted shirt, flannel 
 shirt, flannel drawers, two pair socks, please send me 
 a comb, coarse one, also a towel. Tom Stith will be 
 judge of what he can bring besides those things. Tell 
 him we are at the same camp that Henry Warren came 
 to us at. If I have time I will write to him tomorrow. 
 We have just as much to do now as we can attend to. 
 We are on picket every third night (Nov. 12). We 
 moved camp this morning about half mile nearer our 
 picket line. Cannonading is occasionally heard on the 
 other side of the river. I don't know what we will 
 be doing, or where we will be tomorrow this time. I 
 am perfectly willing for the Yankees to cross here, 
 for I think we will whip them worse than we ever did 
 at Fredricksburg. I shall be on picket tonight. I've 
 got to go to work and get something to eat to carry 
 with me. Give my love to all. As ever. 
 
 Your sincere and devoted son, 
 
 Walter. 
 
 Camp Near Morton's Ford, Va., 
 
 December 3rd, 1863. 
 My Dear Mother: 
 
 I know you are anxious to hear from me, so I 
 thought I would write, if not but a few lines, to let 
 you hear from me and to know that I was well and 
 
i^e:tte:rs from gkorge and wai^ter. 101 
 
 safe. We left this place to-day was one week ago. 
 That night at 3 o'clock we left and went down the 
 river towards Germania Ford, where the Yankees 
 have crossed in heavy force. We got there late in 
 the evening, and had some very sharp skirmishes with 
 them before night. We were in line of battle all 
 night; just before day we fell back a short distance 
 and established our line of battle and commenced 
 throwing up our breastworks in the coldest kind of 
 a rain. We were in an old field on top of a hill, where 
 the wind came with all its fury. The smoke from our 
 fires was almost enough to kill a man. We were in 
 that condition, expecting an attack by the Yankees 
 day or night. We have to keep all of our things on all 
 the time and one-half of the men up all night, in case 
 of an attack. Yesterday morning we commenced mov- 
 ing about 2 o'clock, and at daylight we discovered that 
 the Yankees had retreated across the river. Our 
 Brigade was ordered to the front and we commenced 
 the pursuit. We pretty soon commenced taking a few 
 stragglers and by ten o'clock we have taken (from 
 the looks of them as passed them on the road this 
 morning) three or four hundred. They were the poor- 
 est Yankees I ever saw. They did not have one mouth- 
 ful to eat and said they had not had any in four days. 
 They stated as an excuse that our cavalry had cap- 
 tured their wagons. Several of them offered me $2.00 
 a piece for crackers, but I told them we were rationed 
 up for two days and I could eat everything in my hav- 
 ersack in one, so I could not spare them. I told them 
 that they would draw something to eat pretty soon. 
 
102 I^0RGET-ME:-N0TS of the: civil. WAR. 
 
 One of them gave me his knapsack and everything in 
 it and then very poHtely asked me if I could spare 
 him a cracker. I could not refuse him, for the things 
 that he gave me unsoHcited were very valuable. A 
 pair of new shoes and a Yankee tent are things that 
 money will not buy. I would not take $25.00 for my 
 tent which he gave me. They are large enough for 
 two, and so light that you can roll them in your knap- 
 sack and not feel the weight at all. I could have got- 
 ten more little Yankee camp conveniences than I could 
 carry, but we were then in line of battle, charging 
 through the woods and I did not wish to bungle my- 
 self up too much. I do not know how long we shall 
 stay here, but it's my opinion, not long. I hope it 
 will be long enough for us to get rested and recruited 
 again before we set out for another march. Tom Stith 
 brought all the things which you sent by him, in- 
 cluding the letters. I am too tired and worn out to 
 write an interesting letter. I merely wrote to set your 
 mind at ease. As soon as I can cook something I shall 
 try and go to sleep. I haven't slept more than an hour 
 at any time for nearly a week. My love to all. Write 
 soon to your 
 
 Sincere and affectionate son, 
 
 Walter. 
 
 Camp in Winter Quarters^ Near Orange 
 Court House, January 10, 1864. 
 My Dear Mother: 
 
 I received your letter by mail, also the one you sent 
 by Mixson. We were on picket at the time. Mixson 
 
I,ETTe:RS from GEORGe: and WAIvTER. 103 
 
 got here to-day (Sunday) week. We got back from 
 picket last night, having spent one week on the banks 
 of the Rapidan. We had two snows during the time, 
 each one two or three inches deep. Though we did not 
 suffer as one would suppose, who does not know how 
 to fix up. My little Yankee tent came into requisition, 
 so did my visor; you can't imagine the comfort there 
 is in it while exposed to cold north winds. I thought 
 I had written to you how I liked it. I used to think 
 I wouldn't wear one, now I wouldn't be without it for 
 anything. You say you wish I was in the office again. 
 I do not. Though I was never allowanced while there 
 for something to eat, there were other things equally 
 as disagreeable. I get enough to eat now, but none 
 to waste and I feel much better satisfied. Our meat 
 has been cut down to a quarter of a pound and they 
 give us sugar, coffee, rice and sometimes dried fruit. 
 We eat up everything they give us and feel hungry all 
 the time. When they only give us a quarter of a 
 pound of meat and a tin cupful of flour, it is not 
 enough for a hearty man, but when they give us rice, 
 peas, etc., we can make out very well. Peter Christ- 
 man got a letter from his father yesterday, saying 
 he was going to start with a load of boxes to-day 
 (Sunday) week. I suppose he will come in May War- 
 ren's place. I need not tell you what to send me, for 
 I know you will be certain to send me as much as I 
 could ask for. I don't wish for you to send me any- 
 thing that is scarce or high priced. Let it be some- 
 thing that you have a plenty of, so that you will not 
 miss it. The things that you sent by Mixson came in 
 
104 forge:t-me-nots o^ the: civii. war. 
 
 a very good time. He sent me some meat and pota- 
 toes while on picket. You can send me a little of that 
 nice meal, if yon have it to spare. You need not send 
 any sage, just send a few pods of red peppers to boil 
 with beef once in a while, when we draw it. I don't 
 suppose we shall draw much more beef until next 
 Spring. Please don't forget to send a small case knife, 
 a fig stem for pipe, the size of your middle finger, 
 about six inches long. 
 
 I am very well supplied with winter clothing of 
 every kind at present. Just drawn a splendid pair of 
 English shoes. The trip down the river cut my 
 others all to pieces. I did want to send a pair of Eng- 
 lish shoes to brother, but it seems that I can't get ahead 
 so that I can do so. If we didn't have any picket duty 
 to do this winter, we should be just as comfortable as 
 I could wish. But we have to go eight miles ofT every 
 fifth week and spend the time out doors, don't make 
 any diflference what kind of weather it is. I don't 
 suppose we shall have to go more than two or three 
 times, though before we shall start on our next 
 Spring's campaign, wherever that may be. Tell Bob to 
 write whenever you do and let me know how he is 
 getting along himself. Give my love to all the family, 
 also to Puss whenever you write to her. Write as soon 
 as is convenient and believe me, as ever. 
 
 Your sincere and affectionate son, 
 
 Walter. 
 
letters i^rom george and walter. 105 
 
 Camp Fourth North Carolina Re:g't.^ 
 Near Orange Court House, Jan. 26, 1864. 
 My Dear Folks: 
 
 Your letter of the 16th inst. received a few days 
 ago. Mr. Christman and the boxes got here Sunday 
 night. Everything came safely, with the exception 
 of Tom Stith's box, that got stolen passing through 
 Richmond ; the practiced thieves around Richmond can 
 steal anything. 
 
 You can't tell how I prize that middling of meat. 
 It came in the very nick of time. I had just finished 
 the ham and sausages which you sent by Nixson. The 
 things which you have sent me will last me several 
 weeks; with what I draw will give me just as much 
 as I want by mixing rations. You don't know how 
 selfish men become by soldiering two or three years. 
 Two years ago when one received a box from home 
 he was expected to ask the whole company up and tell 
 them to help themselves, but that custom has played 
 out. Now when a fellow buys anything or has any- 
 thing sent him from home, the rest of the company 
 don't expect to be asked to help themselves. Whoever 
 one is messing with he is all that expects to share it 
 with him; the whole company is messed off in pairs 
 to suit themselves. I have been messing with Lang 
 Mixson since we left Morton's Ford. He is the best 
 messmate I have ever had. I will never mess with 
 more than one at a time again. When two are together 
 it enables them to cook and draw the rations for each 
 other, when either is on duty. Mr. Winstead, our 
 orderly, will leave in the morning for home. I shall 
 
106 forget-me:-nots of the civil war. 
 
 send this by Wm. Barnes, who will leave with Mr. 
 Christman. Give my love to all. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 Walte:r. 
 
 Camp Near Orange Court House, Va., 
 February 8, 1864. 
 Dear Mother: 
 
 I received your letter last week and I had just com- 
 menced to answer it when I heard commotion at Mor- 
 ton's Ford. Our Brigade was on picket last week, one 
 week sooner than our time, in consequence of Gen. 
 Battle's and Johnston's Brigades having gone some- 
 where, I suppose to North Carolina. I was on camp 
 guard at the time and was left for camp duty. Our 
 Brigade had fallen in to start back to camp when our 
 cannon on picket fired into the Yankees then graping. 
 Before the boys could get to the breastworks, the Yan- 
 kees had driven the picket line into them. They kept up 
 a pretty sharp skirmish for three or four hours. The 
 sharpshooters got so near to each other that they run 
 and shot each other around a house, one Yankee was 
 killed on the piazza of the house. There was only 
 one man in our Brigade that was hurt, his name was 
 W. A. Driver, belonging to our compan}^ He was 
 wounded on the skirmish line. The Yankees lost some 
 ten or fifteen. We killed one of their Generals, but 
 they succeeded in getting him across the river. That 
 night our line of pickets were posted in their same 
 old posts. We heard here in camp that the Yankees 
 were about to take our breastworks. 
 
i,e:tte:rs from gkorge and waIvTe:r. 107 
 
 Next morning, Sunday, Peter Christman and my- 
 self rolled up our things and by daylight were on our 
 way to the breastworks. When we got there our army 
 was lying in our breastworks and the Yankees were 
 scattered all over the fields about a half-mile the other 
 side of the river. All their cannons were in position 
 and remained so during the day. There were two lines 
 of artillery just the right distance from each other to 
 do the best execution, frowning at each other the whole 
 day, neither willing or inclined to commence the fight 
 across the river. 
 
 Last night about ten o'clock, their camp fires all 
 died out and this morning the Yankees were all gone, 
 except their line of pickets. 
 
 We pretty soon started back to camp and got here 
 an hour ago, and I am in hopes they will not trouble 
 us any more this winter. The mountains in Yankee- 
 dom were covered with snow this morning. I am in 
 hopes we will have some shortly to put an end to all 
 military operations for this winter. I will write again 
 in a day or two. I am as tired as a horse at present, 
 a tramp of ten miles through the mud ankle deep is 
 enough to tire a mule. Give love to all. 
 
 As ever, your devoted son, 
 
 Walter. 
 
 Camp, Fourth N. C, Near Orange Court House, 
 
 February, 1864. 
 My Dear Mother: 
 
 I received your letter dated February 21st, Friday, 
 and I should have answered it yesterday, but for the 
 
108 forge:t-me-nots of the civiIv war. 
 
 want of time. Our Brigade has about one mile of 
 plank road to ditch and grade and there is a very 
 heavy detail from the Regiment every day. The whole 
 regiment is on duty every day and will be for eight 
 or ten days more. Those that are not on guard are 
 at work on the roads. I came off guard this morning 
 and will be on fatigue duty tomorrow until we make 
 some move. We got orders this morning to cook up 
 two days' rations and keep it on hand until further 
 orders. I can't imagine what it is for. We have had 
 so much nice weather for the past week or two. I 
 think our General anticipates an attack. I don't like 
 the idea of leaving our winter quarters this time of 
 the year. We are bound to have some very severe 
 weather yet. The day Cullen left, it snowed about two 
 or three inches deep, and before the next day at 12 
 o'clock all traces of it had disappeared. It is warm 
 enough at present to be without a fire. All are busy 
 cooking up rations for fear we may have to leave. I 
 haven't cut the ham you sent by Cullen, yet, and I have 
 about half the middling which Mr. Christman brought 
 me. I have one or two potatoes left yet. If we stay here 
 until Spring, I think I shall have enough to last me. 
 If you have an opportunity, I should like to have about 
 a peck of peas. They go farther and do a man more 
 good than anything that I know of. 
 
 I wish you would send my copy of Shakespeare ; it's 
 a brown colored back, with my name in it. Wrap it 
 up and send it by May Warren, and ask him to give 
 it to Pat Wooten ; he promised to bring it for me. The 
 needles you sent me are the very sizes I wanted. I 
 
I.e:TTE:rS from GEORGE: and WALTER. 109 
 
 am very much obliged to you for them. You need 
 not send me any more paper and envelopes until I let 
 you know, as I have five or six on hand and I want 
 to use them up first. I have not received the letter 
 yet that General Battle undertook to deliver for sister. 
 His Brigade has been back for some week or more. 
 Give my love to all the family, and believe me, as ever, 
 Your sincere and affectionate son, 
 
 Walte:r. 
 
 ! Camp Near Orange C. H., March 29, 1864. 
 
 My Dear Mother: 
 
 I wrote you a short letter only a few days ago, but 
 as some little excitement outside of our regular rou- 
 tine of duty has occurred within the past few days, 
 I thought I would drop you a little history of it. Gov- 
 ernor Vance arrived among us last Friday evening, 
 and was the guest of General Daniel. He delivered 
 a speech before that Brigade last Saturday evening. 
 ALL the Generals of note in this army were present 
 and on the stage with him, embracing Generals Lee, 
 Ewell, A. P. Hill, Stewart, Wilcox, Rodes and a good 
 many others whose names I did not know ; there were 
 some twelve or fifteen in number. I did not hear but 
 a part of the speech, as the crowd was so large that 
 I could not get in a hundred yards of him. 
 
 Yesterday there was a grand review of all the North 
 Carolina troops that is in this Corps, by Gov. Vance, 
 including the Cavalry. After the review the troops 
 were all arranged around a stage erected for the pur- 
 pose in the camp of the Thirtieth Regiment, and he 
 
110 forge:t-me-nots 01? the: civil war. 
 
 addressed them with a speech of three or four hours 
 length. He had the whole assembly in an uproar in 
 less than two minutes after he arose. He said it did 
 not sound right to him to address us as ^'Fellow Sol- 
 diers," because he was not one of us — he used to be 
 until he shirked out of the service for a little office 
 down in North Carolina, so now he would address us 
 as ''Fellow Tar Heels," as we always stick. 
 
 I was in a good place to hear every word that he 
 said, and I don't think I ever listened to a more able 
 speech of the kind in my life. It was very able and 
 deep, interspersed with anecdotes, illustration of his 
 subject, which kept the men from feeling fatigued. 
 The review took up some two hours, marching all 
 over the fields, and then we had to stand up all the 
 while the speech was being delivered. Nearly the 
 whole camp was there, in fact, there were thousands 
 that could not hear him from their distance. There 
 was some dozen or two ladies present. After Gov. 
 Vance got through, the crowd called for General Early. 
 He arose and spoke a short time, then General Rodes ; 
 after he was through Gov. Vance arose again and said 
 he must talk a little more, too. He related two or 
 three anecdotes relative to the Yankee characters and 
 then retired amidst deafening ''Rebel Yells." This 
 morning it's cold and has just commenced raining. I 
 think it will end in a snow. The last of the big snow 
 has gone. Clarke's mountain is covered yet. I forgot 
 to tell you that I received your letter night before last. 
 My love to all. 
 
 Believe me, as ever, yours, etc. 
 
 Walter. 
 
IvE:TTe:RS ^ROM GEORGE) AND WAI^TER. HI 
 
 Camp, Winter Quarters, April 21st, 1864. 
 My Dear Sister: 
 
 Once more in our same old quarters, though we 
 little thought a week ago that we would ever live to see 
 them again. We had a very quiet time on picket this 
 week, at the same time the most pleasant we have had 
 this winter. Only one day and night of rain, the rest 
 of the time the most delightful kind of weather. The 
 boys when not on duty amused themselves at various 
 sports, some fishing, some digging ground hogs out 
 of their holes (an animal that I never saw until I 
 came to Virginia), while nearly the whole regiment 
 amused themselves gathering wild onions. The doc- 
 tors recommend them very highly on account of their 
 preventing scurvy. Gen. Ransom had a kettle for 
 each company brought down the line, for the purpose 
 of cooking them. We had one man from our regi- 
 ment Company D. to desert while on his post. He left 
 his gun and accoutrements and swam the river. 
 
 Last Tuesday the Yankees had a tremendous can- 
 nonading going on for upwards of two hours. Just 
 across the river we could hear the balls flying through 
 the air also hear them explode. The most reasonable 
 supposition of the cause was that they were practicing 
 previous to their attacking us. We have a rumor to- 
 day that they have fallen back towards Centerville, 
 whether it be true or not, there were plenty of them 
 on the river this morning when we left. Col. Grimes 
 took our band down with us this time, and every night 
 they would get on a high bluff on the banks of the 
 river and give the Yankees a serenade, closing with 
 
112 forge:t-me:-nots of the civil war. 
 
 "Dixie" and the "Old North State." Sometimes one of 
 their bands would strike up in answer. The week be- 
 fore we went down, there was a Yankee Sergeant 
 deserted and came over to us, reporting that Grant 
 was to have attacked us last Sunday morning. The 
 whole picket force were under arms that morning two 
 hours before day ready to receive him. I was on the 
 outpost that night and just before day, could not help 
 from wishing that they would come across and attack 
 our breastworks. But Sunday came and passed and 
 everything remained quiet on both sides. 
 
 The man who told you we were suffering for bread 
 was mistaken. Our meat is very slim, though we 
 make out very well. As for bread w^e get more than 
 we can eat. There is not a man in our company who 
 has not got him a bag of extra meal, gradually in- 
 creased from his daily rations. We draw just as much 
 sugar and coffee as we could wish for. Meat is the 
 only thing we are stinted with. We have not drawn 
 any beef or ham in a month or two. We have (that 
 is General Lee has) just received an official telegram 
 from North Carolina stating that Gen. Hoke had cap- 
 tured sixteen hundred prisoners and twenty-five pieces 
 of cannon at Plymouth, that's cheering news indeed, 
 particularly from North Carolina. I hope Washing- 
 ton and Newbern may fall likewise. My love to all. 
 
 Your devoted brother, 
 
 Walter. 
 
LETTERS FROM GEORGE: AND WALTER. 113 
 
 A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, 
 
 There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of 
 woman's tears; 
 But a comrade stood beside him, while his lifehlood ebbed 
 away, 
 
 And bent, with pitying glances, to hear what he might say. 
 The dying soldier faltered, and he took that comrade's hand. 
 
 As he said, "I never more shall see my own, my native land; 
 Take a message, and a token, to some distant friends of mine, 
 
 For I was born at Bingen, — at Bingen on the Rhine." 
 His trembling voice grew faint and hoarse, 
 
 His grasp was childish, weak, — 
 His eyes put on a dying look, — 
 
 He sighed and ceased to speak. 
 His comrade bent to lift him, 
 
 But the spark of life had fled, — 
 The soldier of the Legion in a foreign land is dead! 
 
 And the soft moon rose up slowly. 
 And calmly she looked down 
 
 On the red sand of the battle-field. 
 With bloody corses strewn. 
 
 Yes, calmly on that dreadful scene 
 Her pale light seemed to shine, 
 
 As it shone on distant Bingen, — fair Bingen — on the Rhine. 
 
 — Caroline E. Norton. 
 
 In Link of Battle Near Spotsylvania 
 
 Court House, Va., May 14, 1864. 
 My Dear Folks: 
 
 Through the kind providence of the Almighty God 
 I have come out so far safe and sound and am spared 
 once more to gladden your hearts by writing you. I 
 scarcely know what to write you about or where to 
 commence. Pen cannot describe or words relate the 
 many adventures which we have passed through dur- 
 ing the past ten days. We have been fighting to-day, 
 makes eleven days and we have repulsed and whipped 
 the Yankees every time they have attacked us. God 
 only knows how much longer the battle will last, but if 
 
114 FORGET-ME-NOTS OF THE CIVIL WAR. 
 
 we are as successful in the future as we thus far have 
 been, Grant may continue the battle for a month so 
 far as I care. In that time I don't think he will have 
 a single man left. His loss up to the present time is 
 estimated at seventy thousand. Our loss is compara- 
 tively small, as we fought them most of the time in 
 our breastworks. Last Sunday is the first time our 
 brigade had any regular engagement with the enemy, 
 though we had charged them several times and run 
 them from their positions without firing a gun. 
 
 Last Sunday about 8 o'clock it was ascertained that 
 the Yankees had made a flank movement and were 
 making for Richmond by Spotsylvania Court House. 
 We w^ere almost worn out with fatigue from march- 
 ing or loss of sleep when we started from this place 
 to front them. I don't think I ever saw a hotter day 
 in all my life. The men were fainting by the dozens, 
 and very frequently one would drop dead in his tracks 
 from overheat. The distance was about eighteen 
 miles. We had gotten in about six miles of the place, 
 when Gen. Ramseur rode down the line with a dis- 
 patch from Gen. Longstreet stating that he had re- 
 pulsed the enemy with heavy loss, and that if the 
 troops could hold out to get there in time to meet 
 the second attack, in case the enemy made one, every- 
 thing would be right. 
 
 He appealed to his brigade to know if they would 
 go. The answer was a shout that we would. Some 
 of the men were so tired and worn out they could 
 hardly halloo. I was among that number, when in 
 about three miles of this place I was forced to drop 
 
LETTERS FROM GEORGE AND WALTER. 115 
 
 from overheat, and the brigade left me. I never hated 
 anything so bad in all my life before, so much as to 
 be left behind as then. The brigade had left about 
 an hour when I heard the enemy's cannon open. It 
 was like an electric shock to me, I bounced up and 
 determined to go or die. I threw away everything I 
 had but my gun and accoutrements, including three 
 days' rations that I had not tasted since drawing them 
 (without thinking where I was to get any more), and 
 caught up with the brigade in about fifteen minutes 
 before we charged the enemy and fought them until 
 after dark. Our loss this night was small. The night 
 was spent in building our breastworks. 
 
 Last Thursday though is the day that will be remem- 
 bered by both armies as long as one man is left to tell 
 the tale. At daylight they attacked the line a little 
 to our right, drove our men out of both lines of breast- 
 works and the result was hanging in the scales when 
 our brigade was taken from one position and moved 
 around in front of them. The stars and stripes were 
 floating proudly all along our works when the order 
 was given to ''forward without firing." We com- 
 menced moving up pretty briskly, when our men com- 
 menced falling so fast, that the order was given to 
 ''double quick." No sooner said than done. We 
 rushed forward with a yell and took the first line of 
 works like a flash. We remained there long enough 
 to fire a round or two and clear the way in front of 
 us, when the order came to charge the other. We 
 took that also with a large number of prisoners, then 
 the fight commenced in earnest. It was a continuous 
 
116 FORGET-ME-NOTS OF THE CIVIL WAR. 
 
 charge and a war of musketry from that time, nine 
 o'clock, until three o'clock in the morning, when we 
 evacuated that line for another which had been estab- 
 lished and fortified during the night. There is not 
 a man in this brigade who will ever forget the sad 
 requiem, which those minie balls sung over the dead 
 and dying for twenty-two long hours; they put one 
 in mind of some musical instrument; some sounded 
 like wounded men crying; some like humming of bees; 
 some like cats in the depth of the night, while others 
 cut through the air with only a *'Zip" like noise. I 
 know it to be the hottest and the hardest fought battle 
 that has even been on this continent. . You would 
 hardly recognize any of us at present. Every one 
 looks as if he had passed through a hard spell of sick- 
 ness, black and muddy as hogs. There was no one 
 too nice that day to drop himself behind the breast- 
 works. Brigadiers and Colonels lay as low in the 
 trench and water as the men. It rained all that day 
 and night, and the water was from three to six inches 
 deep all along. If it had been winter the last man 
 would have been frozen. I am too worn out to write 
 anything of any interest. I am about half dead yet, 
 as is every one else from the effects of the cannon- 
 ading. My love to all, and believe me, your sincere son, 
 
 Walter. 
 In Line Battle Near Spottsylvania 
 Court House, Va., May 17, 1864. 
 My Dear Mother: 
 
 Again by kind Providence I am permitted to write 
 you a short letter. There has been no general engage- 
 
LETTe:RS from Gi:ORGS and WALTER. 117 
 
 ment since I last wrote you. Fights and skirmishing 
 are kept up along the line. Our brigade is now the 
 extreme left of the whole army. Cavalry joins us on 
 our left. What Grant is waiting for it is impossible 
 to say. It is rumored through camps that he has 
 gone to Washington to consult with Lincoln. I do 
 not think it is possible to have any harder fighting 
 than we had last Thursday. Our brigade did some 
 of the hardest fighting that day and night that has 
 been done during the war. It is hard to realize what 
 our brigade did actually accomplish that day. That 
 morning at day break the enemy attacked Johnston's 
 whole division and took their breastworks from them, 
 together with fifteen or twenty pieces of artillery, 
 which endangered the whole of Evill's corps, owing 
 to the nature of the position which he held. Our 
 brigade after, we had charged and run the Yankees 
 from their works, was not long enough to cover the 
 line held by Johnston's division, so the Yankees held 
 a position on our right, upon a hill which enabled 
 them to keep up an incessant enfilading fire upon 
 us; two thirds of the men which we lost were done 
 in that way. Men were killed while squatting just 
 as low and as close to the breastworks as it was possi- 
 ble for them to get. Tom Atkinson, poor fellow, was 
 shot through the head, right by my side, another man 
 in Company "E" was killed on the other; the man 
 in front was shot through the body. I did not real- 
 ize then what a hot place we were in. It was a won- 
 der to me that the last one of us was not killed. We 
 
118 forge:t-me:-nots of the: civii. war. 
 
 were exposed to that fire for twenty-two hours. G^n. 
 Rodes sent word to Gen. Ramseur he would send his 
 reinforcements, but Gen. R. sent him word that he 
 had taken the position and he was confident his brig- 
 ade would hold it. All he wanted to let us alone and 
 send us ammunition, which he did. I shot away 120 
 rounds of cartridges myself, three cartridge boxes full. 
 
 Friday morning about an hour before day, we evac- 
 uated the works, which had been thrown up during 
 the night by the entire pioneer force of the whole 
 army. I don't suppose there is any man that can 
 express the relief he felt after getting out of such a 
 place. Our rations were out the evening before and 
 we had orders to be ready to move next morning at 
 3 o'clock. We did not have time to fill our canteens, 
 so we did not have a mouthful to eat or drink when 
 we went into the fight. The ditches behind the works 
 were from three to six inches deep in mud and water, 
 and in addition to it it was raining incessantly from 
 light that morning until we left the works the next 
 morning after. 
 
 You can form some idea what our feelings would 
 have been, putting all these privations together, had 
 there been no danger attending, but add to all this 
 the thought that the next minute may be your last, 
 is another thing altogether. There is not a man in this 
 brigade who will ever forget it. I forgot to mention 
 in my last that Burton's leg was broken and he fell 
 in the hands of the enemy. Pat Wooten was also 
 wounded on the leg. Hoping that kind Providence 
 
Ll^TTERS FROM GEORGE AND WALTER. 119 
 
 may spare me to see the end of this great struggle, I 
 remain, as ever, your sincere and affectionate son, 
 
 Walter. 
 
 Winder Hospital^ Richmond, 
 
 Second Division, Ward 28, 
 
 May 25th, 1864. 
 Dear Mother: 
 
 You will undoubtedly be surprised and I fear 
 alarmed to receive a letter from me at this place. But 
 do not let your mind feel any uneasiness at all. Kind 
 providence has so far favored me that I have passed 
 through another very severe battle with only a skin 
 wound on the inside of my knee. Though the exposure 
 that we had to endure that evening and night (Thurs- 
 day, the 19th inst.), was most too much for me. We 
 fought for three or four hours in the evening, in a 
 drenching rain, until night coming on, we rectified 
 our lines, threw up some little breastworks with our 
 bayonets, anticipating a night attack by the Yankees. 
 Our lines were in speaking distance of each other. The 
 Yankees would give us a cheer, then our boys would 
 answer with a deafening Rebel Yell. Gen. Ramseur 
 hallooed out to them twice, "Come on Yankees," but 
 they did choose to do so, though I believe they tried 
 to make their men charge us, as we would hear their 
 commands to that effect. We lay there about half the 
 night, in the mud and water, behind our little mound 
 of earth thrown up with our bayonets and hands, when 
 we were ordered to fall back as quietly as possible. 
 
120 forge:t-me:-nots of the civiIv war. 
 
 Such a command at such a time puts a strange feehng 
 on a person, a rehef to the mind which I can't describe, 
 nor any one reahze, but those who have once been 
 placed in that situation. I always have had a horrible 
 idea of a night attack, and I do hope I may never have 
 to encounter one. We marched back to our breast- 
 works that night (about six miles). . Reached there 
 about day break; since then I have been troubled with 
 weakness in the back and a general exhaustion from 
 over fatigue. I was not able to keep up and do duty 
 with the regiment, so I was sent off with a lot of 
 wounded, as that was no place for a sick man, looking 
 for a big fight at any moment. I think I shall be re- 
 cruited enough in a week or so to return. Don't feel 
 any anxiety on my account, as everything may turn 
 out for the best. Write me at this place as soon as 
 you receive this. 
 
 Yours, etc., 
 
 Walter. 
 
 Don't either of you get uneasy on my account and 
 try to come out here. I will let you know if I get 
 bad off to need your attention. I have written you 
 two letters since the fighting commenced; did you re- 
 ceive them? Send me a sheet of paper as soon as you 
 receive this, and I will write you again immediately. 
 
 Camp Near Bunker Hill, Va., Aug. 30," 1864. 
 Dear Mother: 
 
 I take this occasion to drop you a few lines, as you 
 will be more likely to get it if I send it by Capt. Thomp- 
 son than by mail. I got with the regiment last Sat- 
 
li:tte:rs from george: and wai^ter. 121 
 
 urday at Bunker Hill, as they fell back from Charles- 
 town. We went into camp and remained quietly until 
 yesterday morning when the Yankees advanced on 
 Martinsburg pike. We were thrown in line of battle 
 and remained so all day; the Yankees having retired 
 we went back into camp a little after dark. We re- 
 ceived orders last night to be ready to move this morn- 
 ing at sunrise. 'Tis now about eleven o'clock and we 
 are still in camp and will probably remain here the 
 remainder of the day, though two or three days is 
 a long time for us to remain in camp without some 
 move. The boys all seem to be in very good spirits, 
 though they look quite thin from the hard marching 
 they have had to do since they left Richmond. It's 
 my opinion that the army will fall back towards Stras- 
 burg in a few days, though it's only a conjecture of my 
 own. I have been in excellent health ever since I 
 left home, though at times I have had the blues pretty 
 bad. I begin to feel perfectly at home and every- 
 thing begins to feel like old times. I am in hopes we 
 have done most of our hard marching that is the only 
 thing I am dreading now. The weather has turned 
 some cooler, the nights are quite cool, making a heavy 
 blanket feel quite comfortable. 
 
 Tell Mr. Rhodes that Blake is with the Company 
 and is looking very well, he was only at the hospital 
 a few days from being broken down. He is asleep 
 now, or I would ask him if he wished to send any 
 message. Write soon. My love to all the family. I 
 remain as ever, 
 
 Your sincere and affectionate son, 
 
 Walter. 
 
122 forgkt-me-nots of the civii. war. 
 
 Unite:d States Prisoners Camp, 
 Point Lookout, Md., Sept. 29, 1864. 
 My Dear Mother: 
 
 At the battle of Winchester, fought the 19th of 
 this month, myself, together with seven others of 
 our company, were captured, namely Henry Warren, 
 Emerson Winstead, Pat Wooten, Bunyan Barnes, Ed- 
 win Barnes, Byrant Stokes and Joel Taylor. All of 
 us are in very good health. All of us have written 
 although some of our letters may be lost. Give my love 
 to all the family. Please write as soon as you receive 
 this. Direct me care of Major Brady, Provost Mar- 
 shal. Let me know whether Blake was killed or 
 wounded. Goodbye, believe me as ever 
 
 Your sincere and affectionate son, 
 
 Walter. 
 
 When I remember all 
 
 The friends, so linked together, 
 I've seen around me fall, 
 
 Like leaves in wintry weather, 
 I feel like one 
 
 Who treads alone 
 Some banquet hall deserted. 
 
 Whose light are fled, 
 Whose garlands dead. 
 
 And all but he departed; 
 Thus, in the stilly night, 
 
 Ere slumber's chain has bound me. 
 Sad memory brings the light 
 
 Of other days around me. 
 
 — Thomas Moore. 
 
LETTERS FROM Ge:0RGE AND WALTER. 123 
 
 Camp Three Miles North of Petersburg, 
 Christmas Day, Dec. 25, '64. 
 My Dear Mother: 
 
 I intended to have written the day after getting 
 here, but it rained all day and the coldest kind of a 
 rain too. The next day we received orders to move. 
 We had almost completed our winter quarters and 
 the boys hated to leave very much. We did not think 
 at the time we should ever come back again, though 
 some men from each company was left in camp to take 
 care of the things. I was the one from our company 
 left. 
 
 Last Thursday about sunset the division left and 
 camped in a mile or two of Drury's Bluff, some ten 
 miles from here. Last night about 9 o'clock they 
 returned. We shall complete our quarters in two or 
 three days now. To-day being Sunday and Xmas 
 too, the boys think we should rest. It is the gloomiest 
 Xmas that I ever saw. We not only miss the extras 
 which we have had heretofore, but we have not got 
 as much meat or bread as we can eat. The Xmas 
 dinner promised to Lee's army, I see in the papers, 
 has been postponed until New Year's day. I doubt 
 then whether we get any as we are not in the intrench- 
 ments, though I think we deserve it as much as they do. 
 We have done as much hard fighting and as for 
 the marching we have done all. The boys 
 were all very glad to see us. Gen. Grimes 
 happened to ride by as I arrived and was pulling my 
 things off. He stopped and had quite a long chat, he 
 seemed right glad to see me back. Col. Venable, one 
 
124 i^orge:t-me;-nots of the: civil war. 
 
 of Gen. Lee's staff, told Gen. Grimes, who is in com- 
 mand of the division now, to make his men as com- 
 fortable as possible, that we would in all probability 
 remain here all the winter, unless something turned 
 up unforeseen at present. I am in hopes it may be 
 so, for I think our division needs rest if any troops in 
 the army do. I understand we came here to relieve 
 some of the troops in the fortification, but as they 
 had made themselves comfortable, they would not be 
 relieved. They preferred to remain in the works on 
 the front line. I think they are sensible too, for I 
 expect they will have us running all around, just as 
 we did the past two or three days, all winter. I almost 
 wish we had been sent South instead of Hoke's divi- 
 sion. In passing through Raleigh I staid all night at 
 the "Way-Side-Inn." Next morning in rolling up 
 my blankets I forgot to put my socks in and came off 
 and left them. I never hated anything so bad in 
 my life. Just think they were the only extra pieces 
 of clothing I took along, and then should lose them. 
 If McBride has not left before you receive this please 
 send me another pair. If you have any extra butter 
 at the time just wrap a rag around a small ball and 
 get him to bring that along. It is the best way to 
 send it in cold weather. He will have to walk about 
 a mile from where the cars stop to our camp. The 
 cars stop two miles this side of Petersburg, for fear 
 of being shelled. Blake has gone to Petersburg today 
 on a pass. He is looking very well. I called to see 
 uncle Richard while in Raleigh, the only relative I 
 
LETTERS FROM GEORGE AND WALTER. 125 
 
 saw. Raleigh has sadly changed in four years. Give 
 my love to all the family. 
 
 Your affectionate son, 
 
 Walter. 
 Camp Fourth North Carolina Regiment, 
 Near Petersburg, 
 Cox's Brigade, Rodes' Division, 
 
 W. Va., January 15, 1865. 
 My Dear Mother: 
 
 McBride came night before last and brought every- 
 thing safely, except the butter. He looked all over 
 his baggage and we searched the box thoroughly, but 
 could not find it. The articles which you sent me were 
 the very articles which w^e needed most, especially the 
 peas. We draw one third of a pound of meat now 
 and we make out very well. You need not send me 
 any more meat, as you need that more than we do. 
 Send such things as peas, potatoes and such things as 
 you make plenty of and do not have to buy. We are 
 very comfortably fixed up in our winter quarters now. 
 We have been busy cleaning up for the past two weeks 
 and I shall be glad when we finish. The boys have 
 gone into these quarters with less spirit than any we 
 have ever built. We would not be surprised at any 
 moment to receive marching orders, and none of us 
 have any idea of staying here until spring. The 
 greater part of the soldiers seem to be in low spirits 
 and a good many say the Confederacy has "gone up" 
 (as they term it), and that we are whipped. I have 
 never seen the men so discouraged before. I hear 
 also that the men are deserting the front lines and 
 
126 FORGET-ME-NOTS OF THE CIVIL WAR. 
 
 going home by large squads. If this is true and it is 
 continued long, the Yankees will whip us certain. It 
 is the opinion here that Richmond is to be evacuated 
 this winter. That has a very demoralizing effect on 
 the men also. I hardly think that General Lee will 
 risk a battle around Richmond in the spring, unless 
 he gets more men. I don't think there will be any 
 general engagement here during the winter. The 
 sharpshooters keep everything alive on the lines day 
 and night. Every dark and cloudy night they keep 
 up such a heavy fire as to resemble a line of battle; 
 although we are some four miles off, we hear every 
 musket that is fired, as distinctly as if it was fired 
 in our own camp. Every two or three days the bat- 
 teries on each side take a notion to have a little duel, 
 and for an hour or two there is a cannon shot for 
 nearly every minute, then gradually dies out. It used 
 to make me feel a little uneasy at first, for when we 
 were in the valley and heard a cannon every man 
 would fix up his things, and by the time he got that 
 done, marching orders would come, but here we do 
 not mind it any more than if nothing was going on. 
 The box of blankets which we sent to Richmond last 
 winter, and the one in which my shawl was packed, 
 came the other day. Lieut. Wells expects to go home 
 in a few days and I shall send it home by him. I drew 
 a new blanket and also a pair of good woolen socks 
 which, with the ones you sent me by Mac, will last 
 me the rest of the winter. 
 Give my love to all. 
 
 Your affectionate son, 
 
 Walter. 
 
letters from george and walter. 127 
 
 Camp Fourth North Carolina Regiment, 
 
 Near Petersburg, January 18, 1865. 
 Dear Sister: 
 
 I send by the boy Church, a pair of shoes, a pair 
 of socks. Brother can have the shoes fixed up and 
 wear them. I guess they will fit him. I never expect 
 to wear them again. The socks only need a little 
 darning to make them serviceable. I shall let you 
 know when I shall need any more. The book I send is 
 a pretty story of the present war. Everything seems 
 to be unusually quiet. I understand picket firing has 
 been stopped on the lines. We haven't heard any for 
 several days, neither have we heard any cannonading. 
 The peace question is all the excitement in camp now. 
 From what I saw in the "Examiner" this morning I 
 think myself there is something in the wind. I do 
 hope peace will be made before spring. The men are 
 getting very discouraged, and to tell the truth, they 
 have cause to be. Some of our regiment was down on 
 the lines Sunday, and they say the troops have not 
 had any meat for five days. If the men are not fed 
 they will not stay with the army. They are deserting 
 from the lines every night, and going to the Yankees. 
 Don't send me anything else that you will have to 
 buy, or need before the end of the year. We expect 
 to go on picket this coming Sunday, to be gone a 
 week. My love to all. 
 
 Your devoted brother, 
 
 Walter. 
 
128 ^orget-me^-nots of the: civil war. 
 
 Camp Fourth North Carolina Regiment, 
 Near Petersburg, Va., Jan. 29, 1865. 
 My Dear Polks: 
 
 I received your letter dated 20th inst., yesterday, 
 which made nine days that it has been on the way. 
 
 Last week we spent on the front hnes doing picket 
 duty in the place of Scales Brigade which has been 
 sent off. We had an awful time; the whole week it 
 rained, and sleeted part of the time, and the rest of 
 the time, it kept up the coldest wind that I ever felt. 
 The men on vidette had to be relieved every half hour, 
 to keep from freezing. One man in our regiment got 
 so cold he could hardly talk when he was relieved. On 
 the right of our brigade, the Yankees were some six 
 or eight hundred yards off, but on the left we were 
 near enough to talk to each other in an ordinary tone 
 of voice, though we were not allowed to speak to them 
 or to communicate with them in any way. We had 
 two men to desert our regiment and go to the enemy. 
 They were two brothers. I am afraid we will have 
 more desertions in the spring than we have ever had 
 yet. The men are getting very must dissatisfied. The 
 Consolidation Bill, which is to be carried into effect 
 shortly will cause a good deal of desertion among our 
 best soldiers. I am afraid our company and regiment 
 will lose their name after all the hard service which 
 we have done since the commencement of the war. 
 There are a good many peace rumors circulating 
 through camp, which gives the men something to talk 
 about. I fear it will all end in another summer's hard 
 fighting. If Blake comes by home, when he starts 
 
IvE^TTERS FROM GEORGE AND WAI^TER. 129 
 
 back, you may send me a gallon of peas and some 
 potatoes. You need not send anything that you will 
 have to buy. I expect we draw as much meat here in 
 the army as you can afford to eat at home. I hope 
 something will turn up by spring which will enable 
 me to go home. I should like very much to see a good 
 crop growing on our little places. What does brother 
 intend doing in case the war continues? I hope he 
 will never have to go. If he does, anything is pref- 
 erable to infantry in the field. 
 Give my love to all. 
 
 Yours affectionately, 
 
 WaltiER. 
 
 Camp. Cox's Brigade, Near Petersburg, Va., 
 
 February 14, 1865. 
 My Dear Mother: 
 
 I would have written on receipt of your letter and 
 box, which you sent me, but the troops were off at 
 the time and there was no means of mailing a letter. 
 Our division was ordered down on the extreme right 
 last Sunday a week ago, to meet the Yankees at 
 Hatcher's Run. Our division was not engaged; the 
 other two divisions of our corps did some fighting 
 before we got there. The troops were gone about 
 a week, and they suffered considerably from the cold. 
 It was snowing and sleeting when they left. I missed 
 the pleasure of that trip. I have been permanently 
 detailed at brigade headquarters in charge of a guard, 
 to guard quartermaster's stores, and things generally 
 among the wagon yards. I have three in charge, and 
 all I have to do is to see that they do their duty. We 
 
130 FORGET-ME-NOTS OF THE CIVIL WAR. 
 
 have our quarters separate, and nothing to do but 
 keep up one post at night. We have no other duty 
 whatever to do, not even to answer to roll call. Capt. 
 Jones, our A. A. General, who gave me the detail, 
 told me to select my own men, so I took one from our 
 company, so that I might have an agreeable bedfellow 
 and messmate. George Winstead is his name. Wiley 
 Winstead's brother. I am just as comfortably fixed 
 now as I could wish to be out here. I shall miss all 
 the trips the troops will have to make during the win- 
 ter, such as picket duty, and all raids to head off the 
 "Yankees" unless we break up this camp entirely. Our 
 brigade goes on picket this morning, Saturday. I 
 am very much obliged to you for the box of provisions. 
 I expect there is a movement on hand now, as 
 there is an order to issue three days' rations to the 
 men. Marching orders do not trouble me so much 
 now, as the guard is always apt to guard the forage, 
 etc., which is left in camp. I think of home every 
 time I take out my little ball of butter to eat with a 
 roasted potato at night before bed time. George Win- 
 stead got a few potatoes from home the same day my 
 box came. I generally spend most of my time read- 
 ing whatever I am able to borrow. I wish I could 
 get something that would be more useful to me than 
 novels. I hope Blake got my shawl home all safe. 
 Give my love to all the family. Dossey has just been 
 in to see me on his way back to camp. He has been 
 to Petersburg on business for Gaston. He is very 
 well. 
 
 Your sincere and affectionate son, 
 
 Walter. 
 
letters ]?rom george and walter. 131 
 
 Wagon Yard, Cox's Brigade, Near 
 Petersburg, Va., March 23rd, 1865. 
 My Dear Mother: 
 
 I received your letter, bearing the date of March 
 14th, a few minutes ago. It seems that about nine 
 days is the average length of time for a letter to come 
 from home here. I wrote you a letter just before we 
 left the old camp, which you have doubtless received 
 ere this. We have moved twice since I wrote that 
 letter. After the first move, we were temporarily at- 
 tached to Mahone's Division, the last move we made 
 we joined our own division, which is in the entrench- 
 ments in front of Petersburg. Our Brigade is on the 
 extreme left of it, between the Appomattox River and 
 Swift Creek, with the river between us and the Yan- 
 kees. 
 
 I have not been down on the lines since we last 
 moved, but I hear that it is a very good place, inas- 
 much as we will hardly be attacked in our front as long 
 as we stay there. I am still staying with Capt. Fair- 
 cloth in the Q. M. Department, but when the cam- 
 paign opens, I expect to go back to the company, as 
 every man that can handle a gun will be needed there. 
 Richmond and Petersburg have not been evacuated 
 yet, tho' there is still rumors that the latter place will 
 be. The papers are not allowed to publish any war 
 news, so we are as completely ignorant as you are as 
 to what is going on. I am very uneasy for fear that 
 Sherman's army will not be checked before we have 
 to evacuate Richmond and Peterburg. If that army 
 could only ba whipped, and it must be, or we can't 
 
132 i^orge;t-me-nots o^ the: civiIv war. 
 
 stay in Virginia, I would still feel confident of the final 
 results. There are a good many of our soldiers desert- 
 ing to the enemy, but I am in hopes we will have 
 enough left to keep the Yankees in check on this line. 
 I feel a good deal of anxiety on account of Cullen's 
 having to go in service so soon. I would not have him 
 join this regiment for anything. If he cannot obtain 
 a better place, I will try and get him into Manley's Bat- 
 tery from Raleigh, which, if he does have to go into 
 active service right away, will be the best place that I 
 can think of. It is on the lines, some two miles to our 
 left, where it has been about ten months, without losing 
 a man in battle. If he was in that company, he would 
 see a much easier time than he would in Infantry, 
 being small, he would be very apt to be made a driver 
 and in time of fights hold the horses in the rear, or 
 in some place where they can be sheltered. What time 
 will he be seventeen? Write to me as soon as you re- 
 ceive this, and let me know what he thinks about it. 
 In the meantime, I will go over to Manley's Battery 
 and see if I can get him in. I fear that it will be full, 
 as I know a good many young men who joined on 
 coming seventeen. It is a very good company and 
 composed of a great many very nice men. I knew 
 some of them before the war. I am intimately ac- 
 quainted with all of the officers. Baz. Manley is Capt. 
 Bunny Guion, James Powell and James McKimmon, 
 the Lieutenant, all from Raleigh. Tell Cullen to take 
 my advice and never join this Regiment as long as 
 he can avoid it. However much I would like to have 
 him with me. I am giving him this advice for his 
 
/ 
 
 Yialtcr 
 
 I 
 
I.e:TTERS I^ROM GEORGE: and WAI.TER. 133 
 
 own good. Please think about the matter and write 
 me immediately. Give my love to all the family. 
 Where is sister? Is she at Wilson? I will write again 
 in a few days, probably before I hear from you. Tell 
 Cullen to write when you do. Goodbye. 
 
 Your affectionate son, 
 
 Walter. 
 
 Alas, these letters are all that is left of the two noble 
 sons and brothers, for George was killed at the battle 
 of ''Seven Pines" while Walter died from exposure 
 after that terrible battle he so vividly describes in one 
 of his letters. ''Requiescat in pace" to all who fell in 
 those days in that cruel war. 
 
 "All quiet along the Potomac," they say. 
 
 Except now and then a stray picket 
 Is shot as he walks on his beat, to and fro. 
 
 By a rifleman hid in the thicket; 
 'Tis nothing, a private or two, now and then, 
 
 Will not count in the news of the battle, 
 Not as officers lost — only one of the men 
 
 Moaning out, all alone the death rattle." 
 
 — Ethel Lynn Beers. 
 
'What are we set on earth for? Say, to toil — 
 
 Nor seek to leave thy tending of the vines, 
 
 For all the heat o' the day, till it declines, 
 
 And Death's mild curfew shall from work assoil. 
 
 God did anoint thee with His odorous oil, 
 
 To wrestle, not to reign; and He assigns 
 
 All thy tears over, like pure crystallines. 
 
 For younger fellow-workers of the soil 
 
 To wear for amulets. So others shall 
 
 Take patience, labor, to their heart and hand, 
 
 From thy hand and thy heart, and thy brave cheer. 
 
 And God's grace fructify through thee to all. 
 
 The least flower with a brimming cup, may stand 
 
 And share its dew-drop with another near." 
 
 — Elizabeth Baerett Browning. 
 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 My First School Days. 
 
 The first school I attended was more of a kindergar- 
 ten than for study. My teacher, Miss Hood, called 
 "Tump" by her closest friends, permitted me to do 
 much like I was inclined, and the time I spent in learn- 
 ing the alphabet, if properly applied, would have taken 
 me well along in the speller. In my efforts to master 
 the "A. B. C.'s," I reached the letter "O" and here I 
 spent days and weeks. It seemed so easy compared 
 with the ones I had struggled with that on my second 
 trial I stood by the teacher's knee, she pointed with 
 pencil to the little fat letter, I cried out in delight, ''O 
 here she is." The children hearing it began to laugh, 
 and of course that made me repeat "O here she is" 
 again, and the teacher could get me no farther down 
 the line until she began with "Z" and worked up- 
 wards, where I was delighted to meet my old friend 
 again and make the children laugh by saying "O here 
 she is." As the years have passed I have observed that 
 all my sorrows and all my joys have begun with the 
 exclamation of that little round letter "O." 
 
 Then I was advanced a grade higher, and Mrs. 
 Noble, a lady both noble by name and nature, under- 
 took the work of teaching me. She had three boys 
 
 135 
 
136 FORGET-ME-NOTS OF THE CIVII. WAR. 
 
 and one girl whom she taught at her own home, and 
 out of the abundance of a good heart, knowing the 
 burden my poor mother was carrying, offered to take 
 me as a pupil. 
 
 One morning my father was so ill he decided to 
 send for a lawyer and make his will, always wanting 
 to save my mother all worry possible. His farm, 
 ''White Oaks," had now become valuable for cotton 
 and tobacco. With a large fruit orchard, and near a 
 railroad had increased its value. 
 
 When Mr. Hood, the lawyer, came, he told him 
 that he wanted to bequeath that land to his first child- 
 ren, and the lots and land in around town, with house- 
 hold goods and personal effects, to my mother, know- 
 ing she would make a fair division of his property. 
 ''Well, Mr. Lee," said Mr. Hood, "what will you do 
 with 'Aunt Pallas'?" "Old woman, call her in here," 
 he said. Mother did as requested, and Aunt Pallas 
 soon appeared at the door. 
 
 "Pallas," said my father, "I am making my will, 
 and I want to know if you still object to being set free 
 at my death? I have tried, year after year, Mr. Hood, 
 to give her freedom, but she always declined, saying 
 she could not take care of herself, and we could not 
 take care of the children without her. Now I am 
 determined to leave my business in such condition 
 there will be no bother to my wife, who has had to 
 work so hard ever since she married me, that I want 
 her last days to be free from care so far as I am con- 
 cerned. Pallas what do you say to your freedom 
 now?" 
 
MY I^IRST SCHOOIv DAYS. 137 
 
 ''Lawsa massey Mars Charlie I ain't got no notion 
 of bein' a free niggah. No sah I ain't, don't put dat 
 down in black and white, cause I shore don't want no 
 more freedom dan I has already got. I thankee, Mars 
 Charlie, just de same." 
 
 "Well, Pallas, do you want to stay here with my 
 wife and these children, or go and live with some 
 of the older ones? You know you came from Col. 
 Hinton." 
 
 "No sah, Mars Charlie, I don't want to leave Miss 
 Candace and dese chillun." 
 
 "Well, which one do you want me to put you down 
 in the will as owning you?" "Now, Mars Charlie, 
 I reckon Betsey will need me longer dan de balance, 
 so I'll belong to de baby." 
 
 Not wanting to separate from my mother, I know 
 now why she chose me to be her owner; surely we all 
 owned her, dear old faithful mammy, as she was, 
 and loved her too, rfot as much as she deserved, but 
 we each and all loved her as our own. 
 
Of all the thoughts of God that are 
 
 Borne inward into souls afar, 
 Along the Psalmist's music deep, 
 
 Now tell me if there any is, 
 For gift or grace surpassing this, 
 
 "He giveth His beloved sleep." 
 
 — Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 My Fathejr's De^ath and Burial. 
 
 A few months passed, the Battle of Bull Run had 
 been fought, and Jefferson Davis elected President 
 of the Southern Confederacy. My father was evi- 
 dently forgotten, for the time being, by his neighbors 
 who had such artistic taste, but that insidious disease 
 did not forget to make such inroads on his health that 
 he had to quit business and take to his bed. I was 
 nearly six years old then, and Aunt Pallas had told 
 me of "Sandy Claus," as she called him, and how many 
 pretty things he brought good children. ''Now Bet- 
 sey, when Christmas comes, you mus' be shore and 
 hang up yer stockin' in de parlor in de great house" 
 (another of her names for our dwelling). 
 
 The kitchen and dining room, with a room for her- 
 self, was only a few feet away from the house, just 
 far enough to keep out the fumes of the cooking, a 
 horror all Southerners have to this day, of this odor 
 from the kitchen. 
 
 Each day I begged her to tell me how much nearer 
 Christmas was, the time seemed so long and I won- 
 dered if Christmas ever would come. Aunt Pallas 
 kept me informed of the nearness, and I remember 
 
 130 
 
140 i^orge:t-me-nots oi^ the: civiIv war. 
 
 when she said, ''Betsey only three more nights and old 
 Sandy'll shore be heah." 
 
 I went to bed feeHng so pleased, but after I had 
 been sleeping sometime, Rilia awoke me, and I, more 
 asleep than awake, was told that my father was going 
 on a long journey and I must go and bid him goodbye. 
 She carried me into father's room; standing around 
 his bedside were all my brothers and sisters. My poor 
 mother, kneeling at the head sobbing, but hushed as 
 soon as I was taken in the room. 
 
 Rilia held me so that my father clasped me in his 
 arms and, folding me to his heart, gasped ''God bless 
 my baby." I kissed him and gave him a little hug. I 
 said "Goodbye father, bring me a pretty when you 
 come back." Amid sobs from the family I was put 
 back to sleep in my little trundle-bed. 
 
 The next morning I was dressed by my sisters and 
 sent out to the kitchen to Aunt Pallas. The mo- 
 ment I saw her, I began, "How long before Sandy 
 Glaus comes?" "Tomorrow night honey, but laws a 
 massey on my soul Sandy Glaus has done and died 
 this night, and he'll never come back heah again to 
 put candy and oranges in yer stockin', poah little Bet- 
 sey," and here she began to wipe her eyes. I remem- 
 bered she often told me I could not do a thing and 
 then she would change her mind and let me do it 
 and I felt sure she was not going to let Sandy Glaus 
 stay dead, and not fill my stocking, and felt so cer- 
 tain I did not even think very long of what she had 
 said. 
 
 That day I was not permitted to go in the "great 
 
MY Father's death and burial. 141 
 
 house" at all, but the family would come out and look 
 at me, take me in their arms and say "Poor little 
 Bettie" or "poor little Laura." When I saw my mother 
 again she was dressed in black and so were my sis- 
 ters. I had forgotten about the night before and bid- 
 ding goodbye to my father, when mother said, "You 
 poor little darling, your father has gone to heaven, 
 and you must be a good little girl if you ever want to 
 see him again." I thought in my childish way that 
 heaven was a little farther away than Raleigh and I 
 must be very good. 
 
 The day and night passed, another day dawned and 
 I well remembered that was the night to hang up my 
 stocking for good old Santa Claus to fill. Rather than 
 Aunt Pallas should discourage me about his being 
 dead, a thing I did not understand, I made up my mind 
 to keep quiet on the subject, but when night came to 
 hang up the stocking where she told me in the "great 
 house." At the time the family had gone out to sup- 
 per I took my little stocking and quietly opened the 
 parlor door and slipped into the room, as I remem- 
 bered Aunt Pallas had told me to do, and there in 
 the middle of the floor, on something like chairs, was 
 a big black box, with candles burning at the head and 
 foot. I was so frightened of this scary looking thing, 
 my little knees were shaking so I could hardly pass 
 this black "bogy" and reach the fire place and the 
 hook that Aunt Pallas said was to hold the stocking. 
 I suddenly remembered she had always told me that 
 "hants" had been seen in many places, and they had 
 always been "big white things" or "big black things." 
 
142 FORGET-ME-NOTS 01^ THE CIVIL WAR. 
 
 Instantly I was seized with the thought that this was 
 a "hant" sure enough, as Aunt Pallas would say, but 
 there was no time to lose, for I must hang up that 
 stocking. I had waited so long for the time to come, 
 and now that it was here I just wouldn't be afraid 
 of a "hant," and didn't my mother say for me to be 
 *'good," and that meant not to cry, as I would surely 
 do if I kept so scared of a ''hant." Grasping my 
 stocking tightly I ran around the big black box and 
 hung it up, feeling the cold chills creeping over me. 
 I ran quickly by the "hant," and closing the door ran 
 out into the kitchen shaking with fright. 
 
 "Why Betsey how white you are chile, come along 
 and let Aunt give you some supper and put you to 
 bed." Two or three times that night I awoke scream- 
 ing at the "big black bogy." 
 
 When morning came I was dressed in a Sunday 
 frock, for Rilia said I was going to the funeral. As 
 I didn't know what that meant I wasn't bothered ex- 
 cept to wonder if my stocking was full and if that 
 "big black hant" was in the front room or not. I 
 started to peep in but saw so many men doing some- 
 thing to this black box and putting it in another, I 
 had no time to look for the coveted stocking, for they 
 closed the door; then after breakfast I ran back and 
 saw the box and "black bogy" were all out and gone. 
 I ran to the fireplace and found the poor little stock- 
 ing laying empty on the hearth, where in my fright 
 the night before it must have fallen. Picking it up 
 I began to weep as if my heart was broken, and when 
 asked by Nealie, who ran to see what was the mat- 
 
MY li'ATHER'S DE:ATH AND BURIAL. 143 
 
 ter with me, I cried aloud in my deep despair, that 
 *'Sandy Claus" had died and never put anything in 
 my stocking. My mother and sisters hearing this 
 wail of sorrow, instead of trying to pacify me, as 
 they used to do, joined in with me and we all wept 
 so long and loud that I hushed in sheer surprise. 
 
 While this was happening to us I was taken out by 
 Aunt Pallas, dressed in warm clothes and wraps, and 
 together we went in the barouche that took us for 
 a long drive, till I cried again because ''Sandy Claus" 
 didn't put anything in my stocking, then fell asleep. 
 When I awoke we were following that big black box 
 again in an orchard, with the apples shrivelled on the 
 ground. At last we came to a place where everybody 
 stopped and even the big box stopped, then men began 
 to let it down in a hole, and taking spades, the 
 clay and dirt was put back and a man dressed in black 
 was talking and everybody was crying. I began to 
 think that ''Sandy Claus" was dead to them too, and 
 would never fill my stocking, so I set up another wail 
 that made Aunt take me back to the barouche and 
 get me something to eat, and then the people walking 
 and driving started back again. 
 
 When I reached home Rilia, my half sister, said, 
 "You poor little thing, to hang up your stocking and 
 not get a thing. Tell me when and where you hung 
 it." I told her as it happened to me and what Aunt 
 said about Sandy Claus being dead. "Honey you 
 hang it up again tonight, just to show Pallas that he 
 is not dead. I just bet anything you get that little 
 stocking filled tonight." I said, "O sister you know 
 
144 IfORGET-ME^-NOTS 01^ THE CIVIIv WAR. 
 
 how to bring old Sandy Claus back again, don't you?" 
 "Yes, I do, and I will, too." 
 
 That night I was tired and went to bed early, but I 
 did not forget to hang up the stocking again. Rilia 
 helped me and I hung it in my mother's room. The 
 next morning I was called by sister Rilia, "Get up 
 Bettie and see what Santa Claus has brought you." 
 There staring at me with black beady eyes, was a 
 lovely rag doll and a lot of candy, oranges and peanuts 
 in a box and a piece of silver money in the toe of 
 the stocking. O what happiness to know that Santa 
 Claus still lived and loved me ! Even now I bless that 
 half sister for the deed that gave me back my hope 
 and faith in dear old Santa Claus, though I never for- 
 get on Christmas day that long ride and the walk 
 through the orchard and seeing the large crowd of 
 men standing bare headed while the big black box 
 was let down into that hole and filled with clay. There 
 steals a sadness over me despite the long years that 
 have passed, that I cannot shake off, even when I see 
 my little grand children happy around my knee. 
 
 Three years after moving to Clayton, our family 
 became so small that even Aunt Pallas was lonesome 
 and wanted the children back again, even if the work 
 was harder on her. The older ones had married and 
 settled in different places, and only the two youngest 
 of my half brothers remained at home with my mother 
 and her three children. My half sister, Rilia, had 
 married a man from Boston, who located in Raleigh, 
 where he was engaged in the manufacture of spurs, 
 bridles, bits, etc., for the Confederate army. Rilia 
 
MY Father's death and burial. 145 
 
 whom I loved as my own, was the sweetest and best 
 sister a girl ever had. She was unselfish to a fault, 
 besides being the ''funny" one in the family. Her 
 talent for mimicry was worthy of cultivation. If I 
 was cross or irritable, she knew how to put me in a 
 good humor "by taking me off" as she expressed it. 
 She had no marks of beauty for she never lost the 
 Hinton likeness. Her droll and almost comical expres- 
 sion gave her face a pleasant look and while I used to 
 sit and admire Nealie on account of her beauty, I 
 would sit fascinated by Rilia's drollery. Oh how I 
 loved them both, but for very different reasons, and 
 when Rilia married I was as lonesome for her as when 
 Nealie became the happy bride of her soldier sweet- 
 
 I heart 
 
 Angel of charity, who, from above, 
 
 Comest to dwell a pilgrim here; 
 Thy voice is music, thy smile is love, 
 
 And pity's soul is in thy tear. 
 When on the shrine of God were laid 
 
 First fruits of all most good and fair. 
 That ever bloomed in Eden's shade, 
 
 Thine was the holiest offering there. 
 
 — Thomas Mooee. 
 
Some murmur, when their sky is clear 
 
 And wholly bright to view, 
 If one small speck of dark appear 
 
 In their great heaven of blue. 
 And some with thankful love are filled, 
 
 If but one streak of light, 
 One ray of God's good mercy gild 
 
 The darkness of their night. 
 
 — Aechbishop Trench. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 How THK Sh^ri^i^ Swindle:d My Mother. 
 
 The year following my father's death was fraught 
 with much trouble for my poor mother. There were 
 some irregularities in his will, and the war having 
 taken away almost all the men of the town, left her in 
 dire need of legal advice, but the fact that she had 
 no money to spend without getting value received 
 caused the farm of "White Oaks" to be lost to the fam- 
 ily. There were three hundred acres of land that had 
 become valuable for cotton raising, that passed out 
 of the family for want of some one to advise 
 my mother. 
 
 It seems that father, in the kindness of his heart, 
 had stood security for a friend, and as almost always 
 happens, he was the one to pay. This land 
 was to be sold to pay his "just debts." The law re- 
 quired the sheriff to advertise it in three conspicuous 
 places in the county, the Court House, the cross-roads, 
 and the town. The sheriff was a man who was anxious 
 to "get rich quick," and taking advantage of the 
 absence of legal talent and my mother's ignorance of 
 such things, did not post the notice as required by 
 law, for no one ever saw it if he did. 
 
 While the great battle of Bull Run was being 
 
 147 
 
148 FORGET-ME-NOTS OF THE CIVIL WAR. 
 
 planned and fought this officer of the law went to 
 ''White Oaks," put up the land for sale and had his 
 son buy it for himself. When my mother learned of 
 this it was too late, and she was afraid to take her 
 good money to recover the farm, and fearing the loss 
 of all, gave it up entirely. 
 
 The mercantile business and its good-will were sold 
 for a song, because of the scarcity of men to run it, 
 and consequently that was sacrificed too. 
 
 The stock, the home and contents were also sold 
 at auction. My mother had so much sentiment, she 
 bought all the chickens and cows; and *'Gofar," our 
 family horse, was put up for sale too, and last of all 
 Aunt Pallas. 
 
 There were few mean enough to bid against a 
 widow who would have a hard struggle to support her 
 three little children. How I dreaded to see Aunt 
 Pallas ordered on the block. I held on to her, dear, 
 faithful soul, till the auctioneer began his cries. He 
 told what a trustworthy servant she was, and her good 
 points he dwelt on, until I feared for her being left to 
 us, and then he began ''How much is bid for Pallas?" 
 There was a dead silence, for ages, it seemed to me, 
 when we children all weeping together heard my 
 mother's voice filled with sobs, answer "Five hundred 
 dollars," then again the auctioneer cried "Five hun- 
 dred dollars is too cheap for Pallas, a good cook, a 
 good nurse, a cornfield hand, a seamstress, a good 
 weaver, and there is not much of anything that she 
 cannot do. How much is bid for Pallas?" A silence 
 of a few seconds, but years it seemed to us; no one 
 
HOW THE SHERI^I^ SWINDI^ED MY MOTHER. 149 
 
 raised a voice, and the auctioneer continued ''Five 
 hundred, going! going! gone! to Mrs. Lee." How 
 we all wept for joy and I hugged her neck so tight 
 I nearly choked her when she stepped off the block. 
 Of course ''Go far" was such a pet we could not bear 
 to let him go, and by the time the sale was over my 
 poor mother had bought about six thousand dollars' 
 worth, including the dift"erent lots around town that 
 father had owned. 
 
 Her surprise was great at her boldness in buying 
 all these things at such a time as the South was begin- 
 ning to experience. At supper that night, when she 
 was telling of this amount that seemed like a large 
 fortune to her, she exclaimed, "How in the world will 
 I ever manage to pay the four thousand dollars?" (She 
 still had managed to keep the two thousand that she 
 had before her marriage.) "The Lawd will help you 
 Miss Candace, 'cause you were shore trying to do your 
 duty." "Well I know what I am going to try to do, 
 go to Raleigh and get sewing for the soldiers from the 
 Commissary Department, they are paying good prices 
 I hear, and there is plenty of work to be had. I shall 
 go tomorrow and see what may be done about it." 
 
 "There, mother, I knew you would pay for Aunt 
 and Gofar" I cried. 
 
 "My child, you have yet to learn there is a great 
 deal of difference between talking and paying, 'talk 
 is cheap,' but it takes money to pay debts." The next 
 day Bob was ordered to hitch "Gofar" to the buggy 
 and drive my mother to the "City of Oaks." An old 
 man, Alvin Johnson, was helping put the harness on 
 
150 FORGET-ME-NOTS OF THE CIVII. WAR. 
 
 the horse, I was sitting in the buggy watching the old 
 man adjust the parts when he suddenly called out, 
 "Bob you hold his head while I thread his tail." 
 
 They drove to Raleigh, about fifteen miles distant. 
 My mother gave the credentials necessary and was 
 given one hundred soldiers' jackets to make for our 
 soldiers. She and Nealie began sewing on them the 
 next day, and so they continued to do through the 
 four long years of the war. 
 
 Once when Nealie had been up to Raleigh to get 
 some more work from the Commissary De- 
 partment, she came to the station to return 
 home she found an uncle of ours on the train. 
 He had been to the hospital at Weldon to see his 
 son who had been wounded. Uncle was sick him- 
 self all the way home, and Nealie sat by him and tried 
 to cheer him. On reaching home, the next morning, 
 he said, ''Candace, let Bob take me home in the buggy, 
 I am so sick I can't walk." 
 
 My mother replied, "Yes, you have a hot fever." So 
 he was sent home, and after reaching there a physician 
 was called and found him breaking out with the small- 
 pox. Bob drove frantically back home, and when 
 he told my mother and Nealie they nearly fainted, 
 especially poor little Nealie, thinking that perhaps her 
 beautiful face might be marked forever by that dread- 
 ful disease. We heard nothing but small-pox (that 
 we should all be sure to catch it), from morning till 
 night. No wonder it made such a deep impression on 
 my sister's subconsciousness. My mother, so anx- 
 ious, sent for Dr. Robertson, an army physician, to 
 
HOW rut she;ri:^^ swindi^ed my mother. 151 
 
 tell her if there was a preventive. "No, Mrs. Lee," 
 said he, "there is not. Think no more about it. Miss 
 Cornelia, but at the first indication of indisposition 
 on her part, call me; I shall stay in Clayton for some 
 time before returning to Goldsboro.'* 
 
 Still it was hard to keep from talking about what 
 might happen; we each prayed hard that she might 
 escape that, the time was about expired and my mother 
 and sister were beginning to look more hopeful, when 
 one Saturday night, just two weeks since Nealie had 
 been with Uncle, when we all sat around the fire in 
 mother's room and she was telling us some of the 
 incidents of her own life, I saw my mother look 
 startled and said, "Cornelia, what is the matter?" 
 
 "I feel sick, mother, like I had a chill." Mother 
 grasped Bob and me, and running to the kitchen with 
 us, said, "Pallas, my child has the small-pox, take 
 care of these babies for I don't know when I shall 
 ever see them again; maybe never, and clasping us 
 to her heart, with "God bless you," ran back to my 
 sister. Finding her growing worse, she ran for the 
 doctor, who said, "The symptoms are much like the 
 small-pox, but don't give up yet, it may be a cold and 
 will soon pass off." 
 
 From that night until the thirteenth her symptoms 
 were greatly like it. We (Bob and I) were never al- 
 lowed near the house. Aunt Pallas cooked the food, 
 and carried it to the door, and there left it. My 
 mother would come daily to the window and call to 
 us to be good and pray for Nealie, who was raging 
 with fever and pain in her head. We were all in 
 
152 
 
 li'ORGEJT-MK-NOTS OF THE CIVIIv WAR. 
 
 quarantine. Nobody came nearer than the gate, ex- 
 cept the Doctor. After two weeks, and she still raved 
 with fever and pain in her head. Dr. Robertson called 
 in another consulting physician. They decided that 
 it was not small-pox, but brain fever. Still with 
 grateful hearts to God that she did not have small- 
 pox, we were told it was more dangerous still, and 
 that her life hung by a thread. For days she lay uncon- 
 scious and still raving in delirium; but one morning 
 in the third week she awoke in her right mind, and 
 after a long while she was able to be up, and grad- 
 ually grew strong and well again. 
 
Haste not! rest not! calmly wait; 
 Meekly bear the storms of fate! 
 Duty be thy polar guide; — 
 Do the right whate'er betide! 
 Haste not! rest not! conflicts part 
 God shall crown thy work at last. 
 
 J. W. De Goethe. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 Thk Work We All Did During the: War. 
 
 My poor mother, at intervals, would stop sewing to 
 help weave the cloth for our clothes, Aunt Pallas 
 usually finding time to spin the cotton. My task was 
 given me every day after school, either to make a 
 pair of linings for the sleeves of the soldiers' jackets or 
 go to the kitchen and help Aunt Pallas spin the cotton 
 yarn. 
 
 Often at school the other children would feign sick- 
 ness and stay at home. I tried it only two or three 
 times, for as soon as I reached home and my mother 
 asked me a few questions, she said, "go out and help 
 Aunt spin some yarn for your stockings/' I hated 
 that above all the other kinds of work, though Aunt 
 Pallas said, 'It'll make you graceful, Betsey, hold you' 
 head laik 'big bugs' ought to." 
 
 The next day found me bright and early at school, 
 and the more willing student I became from the few 
 times I tried to stay at home. Weaving was too hard 
 for me, for my legs were not long enough to reach 
 the treadles, but I would watch my mother making 
 pretty plaid goods for my dresses, the pink dyes were 
 made from poke berries, and the blues were dyed with 
 indigo. How I used to like to help with the dyeing. 
 
 155 
 
156 i^orge:t-me:-nots oi^ th^ civii. war. 
 
 I didn't care for other colors enough to know from 
 what my mother made them. 
 
 There never was such a busy woman as she was, 
 and wanted us to be busy too, from one duty to 
 another. I had so many yards of cotton yarn meas- 
 ured off for me and had a certain time to knit it into 
 stockings for myself. The time came when every 
 Southern woman wanted to show her loyalty to the 
 Southern cause by wearing everything home made, and 
 store goods were tabooed as something entirely un- 
 necessary. 
 
 The millinery was one of the most difficult things 
 to make. Finally one of our girls discovered that the 
 husks of corn made beautiful straw hats after being 
 soaked in water and bleached white or dyed the color 
 preferred. It was plaited and sewed together, then 
 bent in shapes to suit the wearer, and odds and ends 
 would be used to trim them with ; home-made flowers. 
 Wire grass and palmetto were also woven and plaited 
 into pretty designs, and made up nicely, though 
 cow horns scraped into white shavings, and sewed on 
 a pasteboard crown, with black velvet brim, made the 
 prettiest turbans. I used to enjoy the time for making 
 our hats, for my mother wanted us as well dressed 
 as our neighbors, and always found time to make our 
 clothes in the fashion; but the day that Nealie wore 
 a homespun of blue grey, with a long Chesterfield coat, 
 every seam in the long wrap corded with dark blue, 
 with a cow's horn turban, a snowy white with blue 
 velvet brim, and a bunch of red roses on the side, 
 nobody who saw her would have thought that every 
 
THE WORK WE Alvlv DID DURING THE WAR. 157 
 
 thread she wore had been spun, woven and made at 
 our home, except the old velvet for the brim. 
 
 Aunt Pallas used to make our substitute for coffee; 
 at first she roasted corn meal, a thing we could not 
 bear to drink, then sweet potatoes cut in dice shape 
 and roasted, which was an improvement, but when 
 she tried roasted rye, we found it the next best 
 thing to genuine coffee. 
 
 Working from early morn till sundown, for she 
 never would do anything but knitting at night, my 
 mother paid all her indebtedness long before the war 
 ended. Having paid her two thousand dollars on the 
 debt, she continued to pay quarterly as much as she 
 could earn and spare from her living. When the 
 war ended she had several thousand dollars of Con- 
 federate money, utterly worthless, but as she had paid 
 four thousand dollars indebtedness by means of this 
 same money, so worthless later on, we could not help 
 but see how much my mother had accomplished 
 with it. 
 
Bring the good old bugle, boys! we'll sing another song- 
 Sing it with a spirit that will start the world along — 
 Sing it as we used to sing it, fifty thousand strong. 
 While we were marching thro' Georgia. 
 
 Hurrah! hurrah! we bring the jubilee! 
 Hurrah! hurrah! the flag that makes you free! 
 So we sang the chorus from Atlanta to the sea, 
 While we were marching thro' Georgia. 
 
 — Henby C. Work. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 Shearman's March to Raleigh, North Carolina. 
 
 The next great epoch in my life was "Sherman^s 
 march through Georgia," continued into North Caro- 
 lina. We were told every day that he would be there 
 in a day or two, the days became weeks, and he 
 did not come; everything was waiting for his coming, 
 for we knew it was inevitable, and then began the 
 hiding of ever3^thing of any value, but the children 
 and negroes were kept in ignorance as to the where- 
 abouts of the hidden effects. I am certain my mother 
 and her neighbors would hide the things one night 
 and take them up the next to find a safer place. But 
 her real anxiety was for her girls. Many things like 
 silver plate had been dropped in the well or buried 
 beneath the floor of the horses' stalls. A trunk con- 
 taining clothing, my mother's wedding dress, especially 
 to be prized, was buried in a pine thicket, a mile or 
 two away from town. Even faithful Aunt Pallas was 
 not told where the things were hidden, lest through 
 fear or threats she turn traitor at the last minute and 
 tell the Yankees the hiding place. Our sol- 
 diers had well nigh depleted our county of every- 
 thing to eat, and it was getting to be the daily wish 
 that the "Yankees would come through," as Aunt 
 
 159 
 
160 FORGET-ME-NOTS OF THE CIVIIv WAR. 
 
 Pallas would say. The battle of Averysboro was a 
 vivid reminder to us all of what poor Walter had 
 written about the battle of Spottsylvania Court House, 
 Virginia. All day long we could hear the booming 
 of cannon, which meant death to so many poor fellows. 
 This battle was fought between Gen. Slocum's army 
 and General Joe Johnston's, one of our Commanders. 
 The confederates, however, were forced to fly, and 
 when they passed our town they were in a mighty 
 big hurry to get away from General Slocum. They 
 tore down fences, railroads, etc., and when the ragged, 
 half starved fellows passed our house, they left orders 
 for all the women and children to get between the 
 chimneys. My mother and sister had been on the 
 porch, waving a last farewell to the poor defeated Con- 
 federates who had held out so wonderfully during 
 those days of suffering. They called to them if they 
 heard any skirmishing to be sure and seek a place of 
 safety, for Sherman would reach Clayton by eleven 
 o'clock that morning. I was greatly disturbed on 
 going to my room to find all my frocks hanging in the 
 closets, after begging mother to hide them as Bettie 
 Cox's mother had done her things. I wondered where 
 I could find a safe place, and failing concluded to wear 
 them all. I managed to put on four with a large 
 new homespun for the top dress. Then I went into 
 the dining room and in the drawer where the steel 
 knives and forks were I found a plated fork ; thinking 
 it safer too on my person, I tried to find a place about 
 me where I could hide it, but could think of no safe 
 place, only in my stocking, so placing it with the 
 
''General Sherman halted and asked in a kindly voice whether she 
 had hushand or sons in the war.'' 
 
shs^rman's march to raIve:igh. 161 
 
 prongs turned out, I thought no more about it till 
 later in the day. After a while my mother bade us 
 get indoors between the chimneys as ordered, for now 
 and then a stray minie ball came whizzing through the 
 trees. Then came the rear guard of Johnston's army, 
 and half starved as they were, they still shouted ''Hur- 
 rah for Jeff Davis" and ''We'll hang Abe Lincoln to 
 a sour apple tree." With a wave of their tattered old 
 hats the last of our brave boys passed our house on 
 their way to Raleigh. While the women and children 
 of our little town w^ere left to the mercy of the enemy 
 and Gen. William Tecumseh Sherman. Such horrible 
 stories my mother had heard of what might hap- 
 pen to her daughters gave her so much real pain, that 
 when the last of our boys had gone forever, her fea- 
 tures, looked determined like they did when she had 
 a difficult task to do and intended to do it. Such a 
 look came over her face as a bugle blast was heard 
 and then burst upon our vision Sherman's army. Our 
 soldiers had passed ragged, barefooted; words beggar 
 the description of their real condition. Here coming, 
 from every direction, were men in beautiful blue and 
 new looking uniforms, and everything seemed to stand 
 out as silhouettes against the bright April sun, and 
 there mounted on his favorite charger, was Gen. Wil- 
 liam Tecumseh Sherman, gorgeous in gold and blue; 
 then came the guard that he ordered sent to protect 
 us, and such a sea of faces that we could not look in 
 any direction that the Yankees were not, and soon 
 the porch was filled with them asking if there were 
 any "J^^^Y Rebs" inside. I chanced to follow the 
 guard to see what he intended doing, when he re- 
 
162 FORO^T-MK-NOTS OF THE CIVIL WAR. 
 
 marked, ''Say, Betty (for I had told him my name as 
 soon as I saw him), why are you so warm?" He was 
 out digging up some buried treasures, I said : "Well, I 
 have on five frocks, Mr. Bunting, and they make me 
 very warm, for one of them is woolen." He 
 replied "will you tell me what you are wearing all 
 those dresses for on such a warm day?" I answered, 
 "Why, to keep the Yankees from getting them." "Oh 
 I see, well, let me tell you, as long as General Sherman 
 sent me here to guard your mother's house and effects, 
 I will see that the Yankees don't get your dresses. Go, 
 child, and take them off." I lifted my homespun skirt 
 to show him that I really did have on five dresses, 
 when he caught sight of something sticking out of 
 my stocking. 
 
 "Well, please tell me what that is in your stocking 
 that sticks out like knitting needles?" 
 
 "That's my fork I have been eating with since the 
 others were hid. I didn't want the Yankees to get 
 anything I had, for I believe my mother forgot to hide 
 these things." 
 
 I left him and went into the kitchen and in a few 
 minutes a Yankee came in holding a tin cup in his hand. 
 My mother had just stepped in to speak to Aunt about 
 preparing supper when the Yankee spoke, saying in a 
 very rough way, "What in the h — is this?" Poor 
 mother looked so surprised, and said, "Why how 
 should I know ?" "Well, you have got to tell us." By 
 that time several others came up. "I can't tell you 
 what I don't know," she replied. "Yes, but you do 
 know, and by gosh you've got to tell us," he hissed 
 out. "You've got to drink some of your poison you 
 
shearman's march to RALEIGH. 163 
 
 fixed for us." My mother began to tremble and said 
 "What do you want me to take the poison for, I have 
 never harmed you?" "Well you are trying to poison 
 us, aren't you? Come now, drink hearty." Mother 
 began to shake as he kept holding out the cup; she 
 took it and said, "tell me where you got it." "Out 
 of this jug, we found it in there," he said, pointing 
 to Aunt's room. "Oh if you got it from that place 
 I will tell you that it is French brandy," she answered. 
 ^"Oh, no, no, it is not the right color, though it smells 
 like it, you have put some poison in it, if it is," said 
 he, "and now you shall drink some of it." Mother, 
 so helpless, stood there, and holding the cup in her 
 hand asked, "have you put anything in it to poison me, 
 I don't object to tasting it if you have not tampered 
 with it." "Not on your life would we put poison in 
 anything that smells as good as this, though it does 
 look queer." 
 
 "Well," said my mother, "if you haven't put any- 
 thing in it, I will taste it," for the jug it was in had 
 only held sorghum, so suiting the action to the word 
 she put the cup to her lips, just as the guard made 
 his appearance and ran them away. He scolded mother 
 and told her never to have any words with them 
 again, but to call him and he would settle everything. 
 
 General Sherman camped near our house that night, 
 and early next morning he was on his way to Raleigh, 
 but not before he left a warm spot in the hearts of 
 one Southern family named Lee. God bless him! 
 
 "Two knights in armor who fought unto the death of each, 
 because of their reading differently the inscription of a 
 shield. Each was right, but they read the two different sides 
 of the shield." 
 
Wliat different lots our stars accord; 
 This babe to be hailed and wooed as *a Lord, 
 And that to be shunned like a leper; 
 One, to the world's wine, honey and corn, 
 Another, like Colchester native, born 
 To its vinegar only, and pepper. 
 
 Thomas Hood. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 The ''Bummers" and "Red Strings/' 
 
 After Sherman's main army reached Raleigh, "the 
 bummers," as they were called, followed in a few days. 
 These were the men who pillaged and caused much 
 annoyance to the neighborhood, by sometimes com- 
 mitting crimes. They visited our town in pairs, and 
 each home of any pretentions. They evidently thought 
 the people- had had time to dig up their treasures, 
 therefore it would be easy to find many valuables, 
 which they did. They searched our house thoroughly, 
 even the boxes in my playhouse they ransacked. I 
 shall never forget how we, Nealie and I, kept hiding 
 from room to room, as these brutes v/ould go into 
 another. 
 
 After leaving the town they stopped and raided the 
 home of Mr. Urias Baucom, a former slave owner 
 and stock raiser. He had made a great deal of money 
 in the business, and had managed to convert it into 
 gold. It was an open secret that he had buried his 
 treasure. These "bummers" had been told the 
 story by some of the negro slaves that he had formerly 
 owned. Going to his home they demanded his gold; 
 he told them they could not get it, that he had worked 
 hard for it and would not give it up. Whereupon 
 
 165 
 
166 i^orget-me:-nots o^ the; civiIv war. 
 
 they seized and tied him hand and foot; then putting 
 a gag in his mouth, he was left to reconsider. After 
 searching in vain they returned to demand a second 
 time the hiding place of his gold. He still declared 
 he would never tell them; then binding him again, 
 they took him to a tree and tied him up by his thumbs. 
 His wife, who was cooking and knew nothing of what 
 was going on, hearing groans, ran frantically out, be- 
 seeching them to let her husband go free. They de- 
 manded of her if she knew where the gold was hid- 
 den, and she told them ''yes," whereupon Mr. Baucom 
 begged her not to tell, saying he'd as soon die as to 
 lose his hard earned money in his old age. 
 
 Some of ''the bummers" went with her, where they 
 found a few old socks filled with silver and a little 
 gold, but she must have found enough to satisfy the 
 wretches for they cut the rope and Mr. Baucom was a 
 free man, but not many dollars of his hard earned 
 gold had they found, for he well knew his wife would 
 give away the secret if his life was in jeopardy, and 
 he only told her of a small amount. 
 
 He had dug up the county road in front of his house, 
 and taking his canvas bags of gold had deposited 
 them there in the night time, then filled the hole with 
 stone and gravel as if the road had never been touched. 
 This he did weeks before, and Sherman and his whole 
 army marched over more than fifty thousand dollars 
 of buried treasure in gold on the county road to Ral- 
 eigh. 
 
 The years eighteen sixty-five to sixty-nine were 
 spent by the South in recovering from the effects of 
 
THE ''bummers'' and ''red STRINGS/' 167 
 
 the war. The state of North Carolina was among the 
 first to recover, and our Httle town was not slower 
 than the others to show marked signs of improvement. 
 
 My mother's little family, then not so burdensome, 
 consisted of Nealie, Bob and myself, the other children 
 having married and settled off in different parts of the 
 state. Bob, who returned soon after the surrender 
 from the swamps, near Fayetteville, where he had 
 taken our "Gofar" with a buggy load of things to 
 keep the Yankees from taking them, was then large 
 enough with Aunt Pallas help to cultivate the small 
 parcels of land, and we were able to hold our own with 
 any of our neighbors. 
 
 During these days many things happened "to try 
 men's souls," among them was the formation of a 
 society called the "Red Strings," that even afforded 
 some amusing incidents, one at least I will recall. 
 
 One day Aunt Pallas came in and said, "laws a mas- 
 sey, I wish Miss Candace you and the chillun could 
 see dem 'Red things' a trying to drill, he! he! he!" 
 Here she laughed so immoderately that we could not 
 help but join her, though not knowing what she was 
 laughing at. She suddenly stopped and burst out 
 again, "laws, dem crazy niggahs would surely make 
 a doag laugh, he! he! he!" Bob could wait no longer, 
 and cried out, "shut up Aunt and tell us what you 
 mean by 'Red Strings." "Why, don't you know, honey, 
 dat Mr. Roby has been around invitin' all de niggahs 
 to meet at Roxboro, men and womxn, too, mind what 
 I'm tellin' ye, to jine some sort of a sassiety, dat we 
 colored people are 'quested to be membahs of, he! he! 
 
168 forge:t-me-nots of the: civii. war. 
 
 he! what is going to make a 'provement on us.' I 
 just says 'yes sah, Mr. Roby, I heahs what you say, 
 but I'm too old to go and jine any sassiety now.' 
 Still chillun, I was mos' a dyin' with scurosity to see 
 what dey was a doin', anyhow, an I went along down 
 to Liza's house, and saw all de free niggahs in de 
 county a marchin'. De drum was a beatin' and de fife 
 a tootin' and den Mr. Roby said 'fall in' and shore 
 nuff, they started two and two togedder a sayin' 'hep, 
 hep, hep.' Bimeby Mr. Roby said 'forward march,' 
 and I'll be seized by cats if all dem niggahs didn't 
 start in to try to drill, he! he! he! sorta laik soldiers. 
 Shore thing he kept dem niggahs steppin' laik a 
 chicken on a hot griddle for a while, den he up and 
 says 'close up,' and would you believe it chillun, every 
 last niggah man and woman in dat company — he ! he ! 
 he! — began to pull up dere close, shore nuff. I sur- 
 tingly did nearly splode with laffin at 'em." At this 
 we all joined in. 
 
 "I better be keerful too how I goes a laffin' at folks 
 'cause I may get that pain again. Oh, bless de Lawd 
 how me old back do ache." 
 
Then the futt and the dthragoons 
 
 In squadthrons and platoons, 
 
 With their music playing chimes down upon us bore; 
 
 And they bate the rattatoo, 
 
 And ended the shalvo on the Shannon shore. 
 
 — WiLHEIM MaKELIME THACKERY. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 The: "Ku Klux Klan." 
 
 About the time the ''Ku Klux Klan" made their 
 appearance, I remember one morning at the break- 
 fast table Aunt Pallas came in with a plate of hot bis- 
 cuits, her eyes bulging and her whole frame shaking, 
 *'Miss Candace, I suttinly saw 'ghostes' or 'hants' last 
 night." 
 
 "Now, Pallas, what do you mean by such talk?" 
 Though noting her agitation my mother repeated, 
 "What is the matter?" 
 
 "I shore saw *ghostes' last night. Brother Dannyell 
 had been to see me and we kept a settin' talkin' till 
 I thought I heard a chicken crowin' fer day. We was 
 a talkin' about Mars Charles and de good old days, 
 when Bro. Dannyell 'lowed he'd be gwine along home. 
 I jest walked to the front gate wid him, when dere riz 
 up afore us a whole passell of 'ghostes' and 'hants,' a 
 ridin' laik dey was on boss back. Hit's de truth — I 
 declare pint blank. Dey was so tall, chillun, dey jest 
 riz plum up to de sky and laik a skeleton wid a fire 
 a burning in its head, and it was all wrapped in some- 
 thing like white sheets, reachin' clear to the ground. 
 I jest raised my voice and said 'Praise de Lawd, 
 Brother Dannyell, dis ole niggah's time have come,' 
 
 171 
 
172 i?orge:t-me:-nots of the civii. war. 
 
 when a voice from the grave laik said, 'What are you 
 a doin' up till dis time of night Pallas Lee, talkin' 
 to dat man?' Folkses I'm tellin nuffin but the truf, 
 my ole knees w^uz a shakin' and I jes drapped down 
 and begun to pray. Laws a massey Mars Jesus, fur- 
 give me for being up talkin' to my poor old brudder 
 Dannyell till dis time o' night and I'll promise Mr. 
 Ghostes' or 'hants' nevah to do so no more." 
 
 "Now Pallas," dat voice repeated again, ''are you 
 shore dat man is your brudder, or is ye jes tellin' 
 me lies? Be keerful Pallas Lee what ye tells me" dat 
 same voice 'sclaimed. 
 
 "Chilluns, ye orter heard me pleadin' for me life." 
 
 "Yes, Master Ghosts, I am shore tellin' ye de gospel 
 truf. I neveh 'lows no niggahs roun heah but my ole 
 brudder Dannyell, an Aunt Liza, cause I don't laik 
 to disturb my Missus and dem chillun what I loves 
 so much, besides Mister Ghost all dese niggahs round 
 heah b'long to de 'Red String Sassiety.' 
 
 "Very well, Pallas Lee, go to your bed and you 
 Dannyell go to your home, but 'member tomorrow to 
 tell all your 'Red String' friends to look out, for de Klu 
 Klux are out riding dis county up and down to catch 
 niggahs dat are in mischief." "I ain't nevah heard tell 
 of no such name before as 'Klu Klux.' Yaas Ma'am, 
 day say dat to me — as sartin' as I am a standin' heah." 
 
 "Pallas, I am sure you dreamed that, for it sounds 
 just like your ghost stories and you know I don't 
 want these children to hear such foolishness. Of 
 course they know you tell them like fairy tales and 
 so they don't believe you are telling the truth." 
 
THE ''ku klux klan/' 173 
 
 ''Miss Candace, I hope I may drap stone dead if I 
 ain't tellin' ye de truf, laws, de goose bumps jes nasch- 
 erally raise on me to even think about it now," declared 
 Aunt in the most solemn tones. 
 
 My mother not wishing to hear more about such 
 monstrous dreams, ordered her to say no more about 
 it. Later in the day one of the neighbors dropped in 
 and told us even a more marvelous tale. 
 
 This lady whose husband, I suppose was a mem- 
 ber of the Ku Klux Klan, told of a company of gro- 
 tesque figures that had been seen the night before, 
 mounted on horseback, appearing like the heads of 
 skeletons illuminated, their grinning teeth and horrible 
 looking sockets glittering with lights shining out from 
 a white robe that enveloped both horse and rider. 
 She related further that a negro, who had made threats 
 against some of the white people had been found, 
 killed and quartered and hung from Neuse river 
 bridge, with a notice of warning to the other negroes 
 and ''Red Stringers." 
 
 However, that cured our county of such lawlessness 
 with the exception of one more horrible case, so that 
 the Society of Red Strings disbanded and never drilled 
 again. 
 
 The other case I recall was one of the most horrible 
 crimes that came to my knowledge during those days 
 and as a little child it made such a deep impression, 
 I can still see a good reason, why the "Ku Klux Klan" 
 was organized. 
 
 My mother and sister Nealie were invited to spend 
 a few days in the country. Shortly after reaching 
 
174 I^ORGET-ME-NOTS 01^ THE CIVIL WAR. 
 
 Mrs. Gardner's home a messenger on horseback dashed 
 up and told them an assault and murder had been com- 
 mitted by a young negro fellow on Kitty Austin, the 
 sixteen year old daughter of her nearest neighbor. 
 These women wasted no time in reaching the scene 
 and the Coroner was requested to hold an inquest on 
 the body. The few soldiers that were left to the 
 South had not yet returned to their homes, so the 
 Coroner ordered a jury of Avomen for the preliminary 
 trial. Twelve representative women were selected as 
 jurors — my mother and her friends among them. 
 Mother was chosen as forewoman when the trial came 
 off. They proved this negro was found sitting on 
 a fence with a knife covered with blood in his hand 
 and eating an apple. The body of the girl only a 
 few feet distant in the orchard where she had been 
 sent by her mother to gather fruit for dinner was lying 
 with her throat cut from ear to ear. 
 
 These women jurors found the negro guilty of 
 assault and murder and he was ordered sent to the 
 county jail there to await final trial, but the Court 
 records have never shown that such a trial was held, 
 for it was whispered that the lynch law took him in 
 hand and the sheriff was never permitted to reach the 
 jail with the prisoner or else the Ku Klux Klan sum- 
 marily disposed of him. 
 
 That horrible crime was committed on the day after 
 President Lincoln had been assassinated, April 15th, 
 by John Wilkes Booth. But in our town and county 
 there were more tears shed that day for Kitty Austin 
 than for the martyred President. 
 
Such was he, our Martyr-Chief, 
 
 Whom late the nation he had led. 
 With ashes on her head. 
 
 Wept with the passion of an angry grief; 
 Forgive me, if from present things I turn 
 
 To speak what in my heart will burn, 
 And hang my wreath on his world honored urn. 
 
 Nature they say doth dote 
 And cannot make a man 
 
 Save on some worn-out plan. 
 Repeating as by rote: 
 
 For him her Old World moulds aside she threw, 
 And choosing sweet clay from the breast 
 
 Of the unexhausted West, 
 With stuff untainted shaped a hero new. 
 
 Wise, steadfast in the strength of God and true. 
 
 — James Russell Lowell. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 How I First Met ''Uncle Ned." 
 
 The close of the Civil War left in its wake a trail 
 of poverty and great suffering throughout the fair 
 Southland. When peace was declared hunger still 
 stalked abroad in the land and side by side with hun- 
 ger walked pride, and together they knocked at the 
 door of the once wealthy planter as well as at the door 
 of the poor tenant. There was little money in circu- 
 lation at this time and few ways open to earn any. 
 Poverty reigned king and was a cruel tyrant to his 
 subjects, and they were legion. 
 
 Three months after the surrender of General Rob- 
 ert E. Lee, my mother and her three children were in 
 about as needy circumstances as one would care to be, 
 though our neighbors were, many of them, much 
 worse off than we. Such being the case it was more 
 than difficult to supply our necessities, for the avenues 
 open to a woman struggling to make a living in the 
 village where we lived were only such as teaching 
 and sewing. The girls in almost every home had 
 been taught to sew, that is, to embroider and do fancy 
 work, but there was no demand for such work then, 
 and consequently nothing could be done in that line. 
 However, "where there's a will there's a way," and 
 
 177 
 
178 IfORGE:T-ME:-NOTS O^ tut CIVIL WAR. 
 
 when our soldiers came back home, to find themselves 
 v^ithout clothes except the uniform of gray, often tat- 
 tered and torn to rags though always dearly beloved, 
 my mother bethought herself of a plan to make a little 
 money for herself and to help the poor soldiers. She 
 decided to make coats, vests and trousers for them 
 and as they had no money to pay her then, to wait 
 until the crops were harvested and take such produce 
 as her little family could use in the meantime. This 
 meant waiting a long time, for few soldiers could even 
 get a start that year. 
 
 My sister, the oldest of the children, at that time 
 was about sixteen, and still continued to help mother 
 with the sewing. The work was slow coming in and 
 very slow going out. Each garment was a lesson in 
 tailored work for mother and sister to learn on, but 
 the prices charged were so small that it was little 
 more than starvation wages they were working so 
 hard to make. It took them fully two weeks to make 
 a suit of clothes, so it needs must take a long time 
 to do more than keep the cruel despot, hunger, from 
 entering ruthlessly into this little household. We, 
 children, were not looking for dress or luxuries; in- 
 deed, we were daily impressed by the fact that our 
 mother was doing all she could do for us and we were 
 satisfied. Many and many times have we seen her 
 sit and weep because we did not have the things she 
 wanted us to have but could not afford to get for us, 
 but we never dared complain at our lot, because mother 
 always felt so keenly our poverty, — besides, we were 
 better off than many of our neighbors, for our garden 
 
'Uncle Ned.'' 
 
HOW I I^IRST MET ''uNCIvE: NEd/' 179 
 
 and fruit trees were in a flourishing condition and we 
 had plenty fruit and vegetables and some to spare. 
 Meat, however, was a scarce commodity and one that 
 our soldiers had relieved us of, for, what General 
 Wheeler's cavalry left, General Johnston's men fin- 
 ished up, as no one around our village could resist the 
 appeal of a hungry Confederate soldier, and our meat 
 was eaten up by them months before the Yankee army 
 came through our town. A piece of meat was such 
 a rarity that it was either given to us in small portions 
 or else it was cooked the second time with vegetables 
 to give them a seasoning. I never liked it and only 
 ate it because mother said ''children always looked 
 putty-colored when they never ate meat." Not want- 
 ing to look putty-colored, I ate it. I had a sweet tooth, 
 though, and loved candy and sugar and the many good 
 things made with sugar ; but, alas, candy was clear out 
 of reach and the money to buy it was hopelessly be- 
 yond our power of obtaining, so patience was instilled 
 daily into our lives and ''learn to labor and to wait" 
 was a proverb in our home. I was, however, per- 
 mitted to attend school, while my poor mother and 
 sister made the Professor more suits of clothes to 
 pay my tuition, than I perhaps deserved. Still, I did 
 try to learn and managed to stand at the head of my 
 classes most of the time. 
 
 This was in June, in that memorable year 1865. 
 The Government had sent Yankee soldiers to the vil- 
 lage to rebuild the railroad and telegraph office that 
 our soldiers had destroyed. One day, on my way from 
 school, I saw a neighbor's boy, Sandy Hanff, selling 
 
180 FORGET-MK-NOTS O^ THE: CIVIL WAR. 
 
 vegetables and fruit to these men. They v^ere living 
 in tents and as I passed I thought to myself, "we 
 have plenty fruit and I could sell some things too, 
 like Sandy, even if I am a girl." I felt sure we 
 needed the money as much as Sandy did. Without 
 saying anything to my mother about it, for I felt 
 intuitively that she was too proud to permit me to do 
 it, I went home, found a white split oak basket, and 
 putting some green leaves around the sides I filled 
 the basket with a gallon or more delicious yellow 
 plums. Without a word I went back to the tent where 
 the boy had sold his things and as I drew near the 
 door I was seized with mingled feelings of shame 
 and regret, — shame, to meet a Yankee soldier and tell 
 him I needed money, and regret that I had not told 
 my mother; so, I ran back again, my heart having 
 failed me entirely, and stopping, I remembered that 
 to go back meant failure and no sugar, no meat, which 
 fact bothered me very little as I said, but my mother 
 a great deal. Finally I braced up as I ventured near 
 the tent, but hearing footsteps again inside I made a 
 sudden dash for liberty and home. But again I stopped 
 stock still. By this time my poor little arms were 
 beginning to ache from the weigh of the basket filled 
 with plums and I began to think myself a coward, 
 and remembering about the sugar and the nice candy 
 it would make, I resolved to go back and sell my 
 plums. Besides, now I came to think of it, didn't my 
 dearest friend, Bettie Cox, have a pretty dress and 
 shoes that had been made from goods her father 
 bought from the blockade runners, while I had noth- 
 
HOW I FIRST ME:T ''uNCIvE: NEd/' 181 
 
 ing but homespun frocks, or old store dresses of my 
 sister's, remade for myself. Remembering this, I 
 said, "Bettie Lee, don't be a coward, because you 
 never can wear store shoes and pink gingham dresses 
 if you don't try again." I smoothed my apron and 
 homespun frock and looked to see if my shoes were 
 tied — they were home-made too, and the natural color 
 of the leather before it is dressed, quite fashionable 
 now, but to me at that time they were a source of 
 grief, because of their homely look both in color and 
 in make. I wanted black morocco shoes : now I had 
 a hope of getting them, so I ran in again and before 
 I could turn back I found myself face to face with 
 a manly form, wearing a Yankee uniform. Seeing 
 my embarrassment, he relieved me of my shyness by 
 speaking first and said, ''Hello, Sissy, what can I do 
 for you?" "Will you buy some plums, please sir? I 
 want to get some sugar, a pink gingham frock and 
 morocco shoes and, and — ." Goodness knows when 
 I should have left off my long list of wants, only for 
 the comical expression I saw on his face, and he 
 changed the subject by asking my name and where I 
 lived. I told him my name was ''Bettie Lee and that 
 I lived in the two-story white house on Main street 
 and the county road." 
 
 "Why, you have a good old rebel name, Bettie. Are 
 you related to the great General Robert E. Lee?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, I am, and my brother is named Robert 
 for him," I answered with pardonable pride. 
 
 "Well, why didn't he come to sell the fruit instead 
 of you?" 
 
182 FORGET-ME-NOTS OF THE CIVII, WAR. 
 
 ''Because he carried our horse and buggy with a 
 load of things to hide them from the Yankees and he 
 never came back again." 
 
 ''Did the Yankees take much from your people?" 
 
 "Everything they could lay their hands on," I said, 
 "except what was hidden and what the guard kept 
 them from taking." 
 
 "Did you really have a guard and how did you get 
 him?" he asked, not in curiosity, but seemed inter- 
 ested, I thought. 
 
 "Well, my mother heard a band playing 'Marching 
 Through Georgia,' and went right out and asked Gen- 
 eral Sherman to send a guard to protect us. I was 
 walking on tiptoe behind mother, holding on to her 
 skirt, but she didn't know I was there, when I heard 
 her ask an officer to have General Sherman pointed 
 out to her; he granted her request and when General 
 Sherman rode by, so fine in blue and gold, mother 
 drew near and asked him with tears streaming down 
 her cheeks to send her a guard to protect her little 
 girls. He halted and asked in a kindly voice whether 
 she had husband or sons in the war and she told him 
 that my father died in December, '61, that one son was 
 killed at "Seven Pines" and the other died a few weeks 
 ago. Her youngest son, a boy of fourteen, had gone 
 off with her horse and buggy with a party of old men 
 who had never returned and she feared no word 
 meant that he was dead. She began to weep again and 
 that made me weep so loud that she turned and looked 
 at me, greatly alarmed to see me standing with her at 
 the head of Sherman's army and holding timidly to the 
 
HOW I ^IRST MET ''UNCI.1; NED." 183 
 
 skirt of her homespun dress. 'Why, my child, what 
 a dangerous thing for you to do. You might have 
 been killed from a stray bullet from our men.* *You 
 might have been killed too, mother, and if you were 
 I wanted to die too.' So that is the way we came to 
 have a guard sent to us, and he did everything possi- 
 ble to save our things and lots of the things that were 
 hidden he found and had them dug up and brought in 
 to my mother. His name was Matthew Bunting, he 
 told me and that he came from Ohio. We didn't 
 think the Yankees would be a bit nice, but he was 
 mighty nice, I thought." 
 
 I suddenly recalled the fact that I was talking to 
 another Yankee and I must not let him think that any 
 other except Mr. Matthew was worth talking to by 
 a little Southern girl. 
 
 I stopped and began eating a large yellow plum. 
 He spoke and asked what I charged for the plums. 
 *'I don't know, Mister, just what you think them 
 worth." 
 
 ''Here, Bettie, is a fifty cent shinplaster. Take that 
 now, but try to bring me some vegetables, something 
 green to eat, lettuce, onions, etc. We can find noth- 
 ing for sale like that in this town. For us there is 
 nothing but meat and bread in this blamed country." 
 
 "Why, nobody in town has any meat," I replied. 
 "Where did you get it?" I ventured to ask, knowing 
 how much mother wanted meat. "Well, it is shipped 
 here from Baltimore for the men that work on the 
 telegraph and railroad." 
 
 "I don't like meat at all, but I do like sugar and 
 
184 FORG^T-Mi:-NOTS OF THE^ CIVIIv WAR. 
 
 candy made from sugar, and that's why I want to sell 
 the fruit." 
 
 "Wait one minute, Bettie," said he, and going back 
 into the tent he returned with two large pans, one 
 filled with meat, bacon, and the other with loaf sugar. 
 ''Oh, how lovely," I said, inwardly smacking my lips 
 at the sight of the sugar. ''Oh, how lovely,'* but 
 then remembering my mother, I became confused and 
 said: ''Oh, I am afraid my mother will be angry if 
 I take these things." My friend evidently seeing how 
 disturbed I was, said: "Well, Bettie, take them any- 
 way, and if you won't accept them as a gift, bring me 
 some lettuce or greens of some kind and your mother 
 will surely not object to that." I thanked him and 
 asked him, "Who shall I call for on my return?" "Just 
 ask for Uncle Ned/' 
 
 I started home feeling as happy as a little girl could 
 who had sold fruit for such a big price and had pros- 
 pects of doing a regular business. Suddenly, I felt 
 a dread come over me that my mother would not 
 approve of this thing that I had done and planned to 
 do as long as the vegetables lasted. Something, I 
 could not tell what, made my spirits sink quite low 
 as I entered the gate at home and started up the walk. 
 I had a choking sensation and tears unbidden began 
 to well up in my eyes until I could hardly see. I 
 stopped to brush them away and think what I should 
 do. I wanted, now that the prospect seemed favorable, 
 to sell enough truck to buy me a pink gingham frock. 
 Such thoughts would never have entered my head, 
 even the day before, with nothing in sight to buy 
 with, but my visit to "Uncle Ned" had shown me how 
 
HOW I ^IRST M^T ''UNCI.E NEd/' 185 
 
 I could make money enough to buy myself a dress 
 and possibly a pair of black morocco shoes too. Put- 
 ting everything in the background but hope, I marched 
 as straight as I could go to my mother's room and in 
 as brave a manner as I could summon up and without 
 speaking a word, I placed the basket before her, the 
 pan of meat, bacon, on one side, and the pan filled 
 with sugar on the other. On top I had laid the dear 
 little shinplaster that meant so much to me. I waited 
 a moment to watch mother's face. She looked first 
 at the basket, then at me. Then I managed to say: 
 "Well, mother, guess?" Looking over her spectacles, 
 a habit she had when she didn't like a thing very well, 
 she said: "Bettie, tell me what in the world this is, 
 and where did you get it?" "Taste it and see what it 
 is." She did as I told her, unwittingly I am sure, and 
 in a half dazed manner said: "Sugar, as I live, and 
 bacon, and — and greenbacks. Why, child, what have 
 you done ?" A look of alarm came over her face and 
 I could see that she was puzzling out the riddle, where 
 I, a ten year old child, had found such treasures as 
 she held on her lap. Without waiting longer I went 
 up and put both arms around her neck and looking 
 into her pretty blue eyes, I told the whole story of 
 the plums and "Uncle Ned." When I mentioned his 
 business of buying supplies for the men working on 
 the telegraph and railroad my mother became quite 
 excited and said: "Why, Bettie Lee, you must be 
 out of your head to do such a thing as to sell our fruit 
 to those awful Yankees working on the railroad. 
 The very idea! Why didn't you give the plums to 
 Doctor Ellington, our pastor? Oh, I am so humil- 
 
186 i^orge:t-mk-nots of the civii, war. 
 
 iated I could almost die for shame." **Now, mother, 
 Doctor Ellington has no money, no sugar and no meat 
 either, for I heard Mrs. Ellington say they had none 
 to even season the vegetables with, except on Sun- 
 days." "Never you mind what they do, you must 
 carry these things back. I can't let you, a big girl 
 of ten, go out selling fruit to those horrid Yankees." 
 I began to cry as if my heart would break, whereat 
 my sister Cornelia, seeing my distress and after hear- 
 ing what an awful thing I had done, and seeing, no 
 doubt, the sugar and bacon too, begged mother to let 
 me keep the things, but be sure and send the greens 
 to the old man as I had promised to do. Nealie always 
 could make people do what she wanted. Something 
 in her pretty face and sweet voice always won her 
 cause. I immediately was granted permission to keep 
 the things and soon had gathered a large basket of 
 truck and away I went to carry it back to "Uncle Ned." 
 Seeing my eyes swollen from weeping, he asked the 
 cause. I tried to make as light of the matter as I 
 could, not wishing him to think ill of my mother, but 
 as he went out to empty the basket I heard him mut- 
 ter something like "such pride and poverty as go hand 
 in hand I never saw before." Coming back he looked 
 at me in such a fatherly way and I wondered did 
 "Uncle Ned" have a little girl like me somewhere. 
 "Well, Bettie, we will settle everything satisfactorily. 
 Now, you have the fruits and vegetables ready for 
 me, and I will either send or go after them every 
 morning about eight o'clock, and so relieve your 
 mother's anxiety about your coming here." I went 
 back and reported this to my mother and she prom- 
 
HOW I I^IRST MET ''UNCIvE NEd/' 187 
 
 ised reluctantly, to let me do as I had planned to do, 
 and sell enough truck to buy the pink gingham frock. 
 On hearing this I had to run and tell Aunt Pallas. I 
 had no sooner finished my story (and to prove it I 
 brought the sugar and meat) than Aunt began a per- 
 fect tirade of abuse about the ''Yankees" and Mars 
 Charles Lee's baby ''Betsey" selling truck to de Yan- 
 kees, and she'd never heard of such disgraceful busi- 
 ness before. *'I never specks to git over you a little 
 chile sellin' dem nice plums and lettuce to de ole lazy 
 Yankees, and I'll be seized by cats if I ain't scan- 
 dalized, — me nuthin' but an ole black niggah. Now, 
 Betsey, what in the wold all dese yere white folks agoin 
 to say when dey heah tell of your doins ? I'll be seized 
 by cats, but dis shore do beat all." Whereupon I began 
 to cry again, for in my mind I saw myself dressed in 
 the pink gingham frock and all my friends turning 
 their backs on me. I cried harder and louder than 
 before and that brought my mother to the kitchen 
 to see what was the matter. Aunt repeated her words 
 (somewhat modified though). My mother scolded her 
 and in a reproachful voice said : "Why, Pallas, this 
 old man, 'Uncle Ned,' is a gentleman if he is a Yan- 
 kee, and will either call or send for the things." In 
 the meantime, Aunt Pallas began to wring her hands 
 and say: "Laws a massy. Miss Candace, you shore 
 do beat all, to take things lack you do. Nobody ain't 
 agwine to say one word about 'Betsey.' I never meant 
 dat, but jes wanted to see if de chile was agwine to 
 stick to what she said. She shore don't have to sell 
 dat truck while Ime a liven. I'll sell it to de good 
 fur nothin Yankees myself and bime bye, Betsey, 
 
188 i^orge:t-me:-nots of the: civil war. 
 
 when you get dat pink frock, dere ain't none of de 
 chillun aroun heah can hold you a candle to walk by." 
 "Pallas, I want to have no more foolishness from 
 you. There is no disgrace in making an honest liv- 
 ing. You know I can't make coats enough to buy 
 Nealie even a store dress, much less Bettie. Calico 
 is fifty cents a yard now and will be even higher in 
 the fall, while I get only four dollars for making a 
 coat, and now that the other women can make vests 
 and trousers for their men folks I don't get as much 
 work to do as I did. If my poor little fatherless child 
 can sell enough truck to buy herself a frock, you should 
 be the last one to speak about it. Oh, if Mr. Lee 
 were only living you wouldn't dare to say such things 
 to her." Then my mother began to cry. That started 
 me afresh. Remorse set in again in Aunt Pallas' con- 
 science, so she wrung her hands and begged my par- 
 don and promised never again to chide me for being 
 so smart. Then I forgot my troubles and mother and 
 I left her to prepare our tea. When the meal was 
 ready I was permitted to have a large cup of kettle 
 tea, sweetened to my heart's content, and a thin slice 
 of bacon, broiled to a turn. Such a thing never hap- 
 pened before. We children were never allowed to eat 
 meat for supper because it made us thirsty in the 
 night and no one wanted to get up out of bed to give 
 a drink of water to a well child. Never before, or 
 since have I tasted such delicious bacon. Mother and 
 "Nealie" relished it so much that I felt pleased to look 
 at them enjoy it. Even Aunt Pallas said "hit is 
 mighty good bacon though it ain't been cured in our 
 smoke house." 
 
The bonnie, bonnie bairn, sits pokin' in the ase, 
 Glowerin' in the fire wi' his wee round face; 
 Laughin' at the fuflan lowe — what sees he there? 
 Ha! the young dreamer's diggin' castles in the air! 
 
 — James Ballantine. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 The Beautiful Pink Frock. 
 
 Next morning I was called early to help gather the 
 vegetables for "Uncle Ned.'* Such a lot of greens 
 of all kinds must have given the men a nice meal, for 
 we had a generous supply of everything when the man 
 called for them. I often wished that day that I knew 
 how much money he would pay me for them. The 
 next morning *'Uncle Ned" came and gave me two 
 dollars for the two days' supplies, and such riches, 
 accumulated in two days, made me feel quite an impor- 
 tant factor in our household. I had almost as much 
 money as my mother for sewing a whole week. My 
 hopes rose high and even the pink dress seemed almost 
 a reality, and black morocco shoes not an impossi- 
 bility. So we traded along for a week or more, until 
 one day I noticed we had gathered from our garden 
 nearly all that could possibly be spared from our 
 own table, and then my heart sank. I felt it was all 
 over for me — no more money, no pink gingham frock, 
 no morocco shoes, for I knew the ten dollars I had 
 made was not enough to buy all those coveted things. 
 I sat down and was having a cry when "Uncle Ned" 
 came into the garden for his vegetables. I told him 
 between sobs that our supply was too low to let him 
 
 191 
 
192 ]^ORG^T-ME-NOTS O^ THE CIVIL WAR. 
 
 have anything else and how my heart, so set on a 
 pink frock, was well nigh broken because I did not 
 have the amount necessary to buy one. "Well, child, 
 don't cry. I am going to Baltimore for a week or two 
 and will take your money and order for a dress and 
 shoes and will bring them back when I return." "Oh, 
 thank you, Uncle Ned. You can buy much prettier 
 things there than we could get here, but I hate to 
 bother you." "That's all right, little girl; you have 
 worked hard and deserve a pretty dress and I'll get 
 the prettiest I can find in Baltimore." 
 
 I ran to the house and told mother. "I know Uncle 
 Ned can get your things cheaper and much prettier 
 in a northern city, but isn't it asking too much of him 
 to do it?" "Oh, no, mother, he offered to take my 
 money and buy the frock and shoes for me. I never 
 thought of asking him first." 
 
 Of course, I was anxious for Uncle Ned to leave. 
 The days seemed long until the eventful day came. 
 The morning before leaving, he called to get the meas- 
 ure of my feet. My mother then talked with him for 
 the first time and upon my request, gave him the hard- 
 earned greenbacks to pay for my frock and shoes. 
 When I parted with those crisp new bills of money I 
 had worked so hard for I couldn't but help feeling 
 a pang of regret to know that ended my career as a 
 trader with the Yankees, but when I thought of the 
 pink gingham frock I cheerfully handed it over to 
 Uncle Ned. He looked at me, then at my mother. 
 "Mrs. Lee," he said, "I hate to take this money. Let 
 me make a present of it to Bettie and I'll bring her a 
 
Nealie and the Pink Frock. 
 
the: be:autiful pink ^rock. 193 
 
 dress and shoes only too gladly." Mother straightened 
 up and looked surprised, and with a most offended 
 air said, "No, Sir, my daughter, though only a child, 
 cannot accept money from any person, much less from 
 a stranger and an — an — enemy, like you." Seeing his 
 mistake he spoke immediately : "Pardon me, madam, 
 you are quite right and I cheerfully submit to your 
 wishes." When he was bidding us farewell, my 
 mother took occasion to thank him for his kindness 
 to her "baby." 
 
 I felt a pang of sorrow at losing "Uncle Ned" even 
 for a visit. Then he took my hand and in a fatherly 
 way bade me goodbye and told me to be smart at 
 school. I watched him, with tears streaming down 
 my cheeks, leave our home and go to the railroad sta- 
 tion, where he boarded a train for Baltimore. When 
 the train passed our house I was on the porch waving 
 at the dear fatherly friend standing on the rear plat- 
 form, his hat in his hand, the wind blowing his white 
 locks, a smile on his kind face. His blue eyes caught 
 one glimpse of my childish form in the doorway, — and 
 on the train sped that carried all my wealth farther 
 and farther away. 
 
 I went out to visit "Aunt Pallas" for consolation. 
 "Now, didn't I tell you 'Betsey,' about tradin' with dem 
 Yankees? Shore now he's gone, after eatin' up your 
 truck and got your money too. Honey, you can't fool 
 dis ole niggah. I dun heard it thunder a long time, 
 and I'll be seized by cats if I b'lieve he's ever coming 
 back heah agin." 
 
 In my childish heart I resented this and as I remem- 
 
194 I^ORGE^T-ME-NOTS O^ TUt CIVII. WAR. 
 
 bered how he looked at me when he bade me "good- 
 bye," I saw truth written on his dear old wrinkled 
 face, and slamming the door of Aunt's room as loud 
 as I could, I fairly yelled, "I don't care what you say, 
 I know he is coming back." 
 
 While she loved me better than anything on earth 
 and I loved her very dearly, we usually disagreed be- 
 fore we ever reached the point of consolation. 
 
 A week passed, and no news from ''Uncle Ned," 
 though I thought of him many times each day. I 
 said nothing, but every day I ran to the depot to see 
 if he did not get off the train, and every day I went 
 back disappointed. My mother pretended not to notice 
 his prolonged absence. Indeed, I was too proud of 
 "Uncle Ned" to listen to words from anyone that 
 might reflect on him. So, out of respect to my faith 
 in him, all kept silent; even Aunt Pallas kept her 
 thoughts to herself, no doubt at mother's request. I 
 waited patiently for three weeks, and as he did not 
 come I made up my mind to stop going to the 
 depot and watching for him. I felt sure that he had 
 died and I should never see him again. I felt worse 
 about that than losing all my money, and the prospects 
 of frock and shoes. 
 
 Not to dwell too long on my misery, for I went to 
 bed with a sorrowful heart at night and would awake 
 the next morning with a sadness that made me long to 
 forget "Uncle Ned" and all I remembered about him 
 and his kindness to me. Still, I did not give up hope 
 entirely, and daily prayed for his return, and one day 
 my patient waiting and prayers were rewarded, for 
 
— im 
 
 ''Uncle NecVs'' Return. 
 
THE BEAUTl^UIv PINK I^ROCK. 195 
 
 I looked out the window and there was "Uncle Ned" 
 coming down the street leading Sandy Hanff by the 
 hand. They both were carrying an armful of bundles. 
 I ran as fast as I could to meet them, and grasping 
 "Uncle Ned" by the hand, I told him in one breath 
 how glad I was to see him again, "but one day I 
 thought you had died and left me like my father." 
 
 "Well, child, I have been very sick and I came near 
 dying. I had a bad case of malarial fever. I thought 
 Vd never see my little Southern children again. I 
 didn't write as I should have done." 
 
 By this time we were on the porch and Uncle Ned, 
 who was still weak from his illness, sank down on 
 a chair. 
 
 "Now for opening the bundles, children." 
 
 Finally, after much pulling and tugging at the 
 strings, there lay in all its freshness the material for 
 'a frock, all pink, — a very soft rosy shade that I liked 
 so much. The goods did not look or feel like anything 
 I had ever seen, and I said: "What lovely gingham! 
 I never saw anything so beautiful before, Uncle Ned, 
 and I just think you were too good to buy it for me." 
 
 "It isn't gingham, Bettie, but a mousseline some- 
 thing — I can't remember the name. It is much pret- 
 tier than the gingham you had set your heart on and 
 you can keep it longer, for it is such a soft silk it 
 will wear well." 
 
 In another parcel was a box full of trimmings, vel- 
 vet ribbon, white lace, buttons and everything neces- 
 sary to make a most beautifully finished gown for 
 even a grown lady. Then from another box "Uncle 
 
196 I^ORGE^T-ME^-NOTS OF THE CIVIL WAR. 
 
 Ned" brought forth the loveHest pair of black satin 
 slippers with steel buckles. Cinderella's glass slipper 
 was never so beautiful to her as were my own lovely 
 slippers. 
 
 "Oh, Uncle Ned, I thank you so much I can't begin 
 to tell you how much I love you for getting me so 
 many pretty things." 
 
 In the meantime Sandy Hanff had opened his par- 
 cel and found a nice suit of clothes, with hat and shoes 
 to complete his outfit, but nothing could induce me 
 to leave off looking at my beautiful present. After 
 awhile the box of French candy absorbed my attention 
 for a short time. When my mother and sister were 
 called out and saw my treasures, mother's eyes filled 
 with tears of gratitude at the sight of my joy. Nealie 
 kissed me over and over again, she was so happy for 
 me. Old Aunt Pallas, of course, had forgotten all 
 she had said about "Uncle Ned" never coming back 
 and bestowed such praise as only a faithful old darkey 
 can. From that day on to the day of her death she 
 continued to sing his praises. It is needless to say 
 how much I thanked "Uncle Ned" and how much I 
 loved him for his generous gifts, for I knew my poor 
 little money had never lasted to buy such fine goods 
 as he had brought to me. 
 
 In a few days "Uncle Ned" was ordered with his 
 men to the southern part of the state and I had to 
 bid farewell forever to the dear, kind friend; for I 
 never saw or heard of him again, but never did I 
 forget to pray for "Uncle Ned." 
 
We shape ourselves the joy or fear 
 Of which the coming life is made, 
 And fill our future atmosphere 
 With sunshine or with shade. 
 
 — Anonymous. 
 
CHAPTER XVIL 
 My First Gri:at Sacrifice. 
 
 I went back to school and studied harder than ever, 
 because I felt that my mother and sisters were doing 
 so much for me by sewing to pay for my tuition. I 
 knew more what the value of money was after trying 
 to make some myself. However, I was happy as the 
 day was long and never grew tired of taking out my 
 treasures every day, and admiring them, and each 
 time I saw new beauties in them. Two months passed 
 away and I had asked my mother every day to make 
 the pink frock for me. Each time she had put me 
 off by saying, "Wait till your school closes and then 
 you will have your frock for the exhibition," as we 
 called the closing exercises. Mother said, "Don't be 
 impatient, now. You have the goods to make it and 
 your frock will be the prettiest there." 
 
 Those were very happy days, when the anticipa- 
 tion gave me more pleasure than the reality; but soon 
 the time came when, from being a happy little girl, 
 I was to be a sad and greatly disappointed one. As 
 I said before, my sister Cornelia had a wonderful 
 influence over the members of the family, and espec- 
 ially over me. One day when I was busy playing with 
 my dolls Nealie came in and taking me in her arms 
 
 199 
 
200 FORGEJT-MEJ-NOTS OF THE: CIVIL WAR. 
 
 said, ''Honey, I have had a letter from Emma Katie 
 Jones, asking me to be one of her bridesmaids the 
 tenth of next month. The maids are to wear pink 
 dresses, but of course, I can't accept her invitation." 
 
 ''Why can't you, sister?" I asked. 
 
 "Because mother is not able to buy me a dress — we 
 are too poor," she sighed. 
 
 At this I felt a great lump rise in my throat and 
 choke me, for I instantly thought of the pink dress 
 Uncle Ned had brought to me, and how beautiful it 
 was, and I wished Nealie had one like it, and in the 
 fullness of my heart I said: "I wish you had one 
 like mine. Sister." 
 
 She looked sadly at me and with tears in her eyes 
 and with trembling voice, answered : "Your poor 
 sister is grown and has nothing decent to wear to the 
 wedding — " and here she heaved a deeper sigh than 
 before, and made me choke again when she suddenly 
 asked, "How many yards did Uncle Ned bring you ?" 
 
 "I don't know, sister, but I'll fetch it here for you 
 to see." At this I ran into my room and soon returned 
 with the goods. When she had counted the folds, she 
 exclaimed : "There are fifteen yards, fully." 
 
 "Oh goody! Enough for us both a frock." 
 
 "Oh dear, no. Just enough for a grown person and 
 entirely too much for a little girl like you." And here 
 I felt another choking sensation and with it a feeling 
 that I might have to give up the pink dress after all. 
 I sat still as if turned to stone, while she looked at 
 me, her big gray eyes filled with tears, and with a 
 hopeless voice said: 
 
MY I^IRST GREJAT SACRi:^ICE. 201 
 
 "I do wish father or Uncle Ransom were alive; 
 they would get me a pink dress somehow; just think, 
 Julia Flowers and Nannie Gulley are going to wear 
 those pink barege dresses that belonged to their 
 mothers. Do you remember the trunks that were hid- 
 den that the Yankees never found — well, they were 
 saved in those trunks. Here I am, with nobody to lend 
 me a dress, while you have all that goods Uncle Ned 
 brought you. Mother says it will waste it to make you 
 a frock out of it, too. There will be several yards 
 wasted — ." Here she broke out into sobs. **If you 
 loved your sister like I love you, you would let me 
 have the goods and make a dress for myself to wear 
 to the wedding, then lay it aside till you get large 
 enough to wear it. You know I couldn't spoil it by 
 just wearing it to the wedding. I would give it to 
 you if it were mine and you needed it, but you don't 
 love your sister Nealie that sits and sews day after 
 day for you to go to school. No, don't tell me that 
 you love me; actions speak louder than words." 
 
 I could stand no more, but wept bitterly to be ac- 
 cused of not loving my sister. I felt then in my heart 
 I loved her better than any one in the world. 
 
 "Yes, I do love you. Sis, but I can't spare my pink 
 frock that Uncle Ned gave me, and please, oh, please, 
 don't ask me to give it up." 
 
 *'Bettie, I wouldn't ask you for the world. You 
 don't want me to have things like other girls. You 
 don't care if I go to this wedding or not, and if I 
 don't go to that I shall never be asked to go anywhere 
 else. You know Ashley will be groomsman whether 
 
202 I^ORGET-ME-NOTS 01? THE: CIVII. WAR. 
 
 I go or not, and I shall lose him, — and — you know 
 you do like him; that is, you're always begging me to 
 marry him." Here she blushed. 
 
 I then began to see myself as a very selfish little 
 girl and my sister grown up and liked well enough 
 by her friends to be asked as bridesmaid at the grand- 
 est wedding since the surrender and then on account 
 of her poverty, not permitted to accept the invitation 
 that would give her a chance to outshine all her 
 friends, besides making her supremely happy. I saw 
 myself keeping the pink dress for the close of the 
 school when I had no special way to show it off other 
 than a recitation or reading a composition, and then 
 being envied by my dearest friends. I saw myself in 
 such an ugly picture I did not want to see it again. 
 I knew I ought to give the dress to my sister, but 
 such a struggle took place in my heart that never before 
 or since have I felt quite so bad as I did then. To 
 deny myself the pleasure of keeping the frock, the 
 pretty pink frock that I loved so much, was worse 
 suffering than my pen can describe, for I well knew 
 how difficult it was to get even a cheap frock. I felt 
 that never again would I get another like the beauti- 
 ful one ''Uncle Ned" gave me. Oh, what floods of 
 tears I shed, and my sister wept with me, but insist- 
 ently said, "You don't love me. If you did you'd 
 want me to go to the wedding and have a good time 
 once in awhile, after all the long years I've sewed so 
 hard to help you through school and buy your dresses. 
 Don't tell me you love me for I know you don't and 
 don't even want me to go to the wedding." 
 
MY FIRST GREAT SACRIFICE. 203 
 
 With a wail that came from the bottom of my poor 
 little aching heart, I sobbed out, "Oh yes, sister, I 
 do love you. Please take the goods and make you 
 a dress. I don't care and couldn't ever enjoy it again." 
 Sobbing harder than ever, I went out to the kitchen 
 to Aunt Pallas for comfort and laying my head on 
 her lap I told her my trouble. She cried with me, but 
 said : "Let Pussy have it, honey. She's a grown 
 woman and you know you'se only a little gal, and you 
 do wants her to be de belle an' outshine Miss Nannie 
 an' Miss Julia at dat big weddin,' for nothin' but de 
 quality'll be dere. I'll make you some nice candy 
 right now." But I didn't even care for that, and went 
 into the garden and walked up and down the walk, 
 but everything there reminded me of "Uncle Ned" 
 and caused more heartaches and such a lonesome feel- 
 ing that I came to the house, went to my room and 
 to bed, where I sobbed myself to sleep. Many times 
 I awoke with a start, to cry myself to sleep again. My 
 mother was greatly distressed and Nealie, too, so 
 they told me afterwards, when I could bear to talk 
 about it without tears, how mother upbraided my sis- 
 ter for being so heartless as to think of taking my 
 frock away from me. The next day I felt more 
 reconciled and after my sister and mother begged me 
 to keep the goods and I begged them to say no more 
 about it but cut^it then and there, they both decided 
 to do as I wished. I steeled myself to look at the 
 beautiful rosy material without the tears filling my 
 eyes, though I am certain I swallowed them, for I took 
 a sudden notion to run out into the yard when I knew 
 
204 F'ORGET-MEJ-NOTS OF THE) CIVII. WAR. 
 
 they were about to begin to cut into the goods. I 
 saw them through the window begin the sewing, then 
 I ventured in and sat down in my httle chair and 
 watched them sewing and fitting it. I had many pangs 
 — like the loss of something held dear but would not 
 have back again. 
 
 Oh, how beautiful Nealie looked in that pink 
 dress! Her complexion, so fair always, seemed more 
 beautiful and radiant and soft, with a faint rosy tint 
 reflected from the dress. I watched and enjoyed see- 
 ing how beautiful and happy my sister looked, even in 
 the fitting, and I thought how much happier she would 
 be at the wedding. 
 
 The day finally came when my sister was preparing 
 to leave for the wedding. I sat in her room and saw 
 her pack her trunk and when the tray was put in that 
 contained the pink gown, I slipped quietly away to my 
 room, and opening the closet door, took down the box 
 with the slippers in it and crept back to Nealie's 
 room again. 
 
 "Here, sister, take these slippers. Your feet are 
 small as mine. I have no use for them now," and 
 throwing my arms around her neck, gave her such a 
 hug as must have told her I did love her, and with a 
 wail of sorrow that seemed to say I had given all I 
 had to her, I ran out to my room and knelt down -and 
 asked the good Lord to make me willing to give up 
 my frock and slippers to my sister and to keep me 
 from being a selfish little girl ever again and to make 
 me happy over trying to make Nealie happy. 
 
 My prayer was answered, for I felt a peace come 
 over me that filled my whole being with joy. 
 
MY ^IRST GRlSAT SACRIFICE- 205 
 
 The wedding came off and ''Nealie Lee" was said 
 to be the prettiest girl present, and of course, her 
 dress, next to the bride's, was the most beautiful. 
 
 When she came home and threw her arms around 
 me and said, ''Oh, Bettie, darling, you are the most 
 unselfish girl that ever lived, to give up that beautiful 
 dress and slippers to me. I didn't deserve them a bit. 
 I was the selfish one to take them from you, but oh, 
 they made me so happy. I did feel so well dressed, 
 and, and, — " she stammered, ''everybody told me how 
 nice I looked. I know you must love me dearly, too. 
 Forgive me, Bettie, honey, for talking like I did to 
 you. But I want to tell you a little secret — Ashley Sid- 
 ney admired the dress more than anyone," here she 
 blushed deeply and stammered : "and — I — I have prom- 
 ised to marry him. You know you like him and always 
 said you wanted me to marry him; and think, dearest 
 sister," giving me a kiss, "Ashley might never have 
 asked me, only for the pink dress and — my little sis- 
 ter Bettie's sacrifice." 
 
All hail to the Lordlings of high degree, 
 Who live not more happy, tho' greater than we; 
 
 Our pastimes to see 'em under every green tree. 
 In all the gay woodland, right welcome ye he. 
 
 McDonald. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 The: State: Tourname:nt. 
 
 "After Darkness comes the dawn," so after the 
 reconstruction days had passed, came sunshine again 
 into our old North State, and our county, especially, 
 had rebounded from the evils of the war. The few 
 young men of the gallant ^'Fourth North Carolina 
 Regiment" had returned to their homes after the war, 
 to turn their hands to the work nearest them; but all 
 work is not good even for rebel soldiers to have for 
 a steady diet, so when a feeling of stagnation seized 
 them, one more bright than the rest, suggested that 
 they meet in October and hold a tournament in Clay- 
 ton, to crown for queen of love and beauty the fairest 
 daughter in the ''Old North State." This announcement 
 was made months before the tournament was to come 
 off, and notices were sent to the various state papers 
 to that effect. 
 
 I was attending school in those days at the Acad- 
 emy, where Professor John M. White was principal; 
 he was one of the kindest of men. His patience was 
 a beautiful example for his pupils, who did not appre- 
 ciate this noble man for all he was worth. He had 
 taken great pains with me in Algebra and Latin, two 
 studies that were most difficult for me to master, but 
 
 207 
 
208 FORGE^T-MK-NOTS 01^ THK CIVII. WAR. 
 
 his efforts were not rewarded as they should have 
 been. I was about fourteen at the time of the 
 approaching tournament, tall for my age, with 
 large brown eyes, that were my only good 
 feature. My nose was too small, my mouth 
 too large, and added to that my age. I had not a 
 single thought of any honors for myself, but I could 
 not help feeling sure that Nealie would wear enough 
 for the family. She had developed into one of the 
 most beautiful girls in the ''Old North State." Her 
 beauty had gone abroad in the land ; wherever she went 
 strangers never failed to inquire who the beautiful 
 young lady could be. None were ever disappointd, 
 but many were greatly surprised and greatly admired 
 her surpassing beauty. If I could draw a pen picture 
 of her I should be able to depict the masterpiece of 
 old North Carolina. Her hair, face, figure, all seemed 
 as nearly perfect as ever came from the hands of our 
 Maker. Her beautiful brown, wavy hair, so like my 
 mother's, was touched with a glint of gold, which 
 shone out in the light like a ray of sunshine in a dark- 
 ened room, yet you never thought for one moment 
 that her hair was other than soft sunny brown, though 
 there gleamed always the golden tints in certain lights, 
 and one of her chief charms was the sunlit brown 
 hair, which fell in soft ringlets, when not confined 
 around her alabaster brow. She wore her hair parted 
 in the middle and coiled low on the nape of the neck, 
 leaving a peep at a shell-like ear, her large clear soft 
 eyes, shaded by a fringe of dark lashes, were as blue 
 as the "azure depths," but when aroused grew dark 
 
the: state tournament. 209 
 
 as the turbulent waters of a stormy sea. The nose 
 was a perfect Grecian, much like my dear mother's 
 also, the delicate nostrils showing such sensibilities 
 as a great artist would love to paint. A rosebud of 
 a mouth, teeth so regular that they seemed truly a 
 part of a beautiful picture, and that picture a beautiful 
 reality. All of these set in an oval face of pink and 
 white, completed the picture, together with a figure 
 of medium height, well rounded proportions, such as 
 I can remember, is a feeble attempt to draw a pen pic- 
 ture of my sister Nealie at the time of the great state 
 tournament at Clayton, North Carolina, on the twenty- 
 first day of October, eighteen sixty-nine. 
 
 The day for the tournament dawned brightly beau- 
 tiful, with a crispness in the air to give greater zest 
 to the sport. Soon the sleepy old town of Clayton 
 was astir with signs of bustle and activity. 
 
 Old family coaches whose steps folded up and with 
 rumbles in the back, now rolled into town, with trunks 
 fastened on them. Many of these had never been seen 
 since before the war. Then came young men and girls 
 riding on horseback, who alighted and sought seats in 
 the grand stand. The crowds grew dense, the streets 
 were black with people, all making for the race track, 
 and never since Sherman's army came through Clay- 
 ton was the old town so full of people. 
 
 The coaches and people came from every part of the 
 ''Old North State," and were the elite of the South. 
 The judges and Knights were composed of the repre- 
 sentative men from the different parts of the state. 
 The Knights from our town and county were Ashley 
 
210 FORGET-ME-NOTS OF THE CIVIL WAR. 
 
 Sidney, Nat Tomlison, John Dodd and Jesse Elling- 
 ton. 
 
 Wake county was represented by Bijou Satre, John 
 Johns and Sim Pool. George Battle from Rocky 
 Mount, Archie Rhodes from Wilson, Billy Hinton 
 from Wilmington, Hardie Home from Fayetteville. 
 
 Ashley Sidney, our townsman, dressed as King 
 Henry of Navarre, looked regal in his purple vel- 
 vet costume with gold trimmings, white silk stockings, 
 helmet with white plume waving in the breeze, white 
 gauntlets, completed the costume of this regal look- 
 ing knight. He was a handsome man, with bronzed 
 complexion, a merry twinkle in his dark brown eyes, 
 that caused many a lassie to look at him more than 
 once. Ashley Sidney was one of the boys who had 
 followed "Ole Mars Robert" for four years "nigh 
 about," and only left him when Lee surrendered. 
 
 He had come home ragged and barefooted, to find 
 work enough to keep him busy for the next few years. 
 However, a chance to meet some of his old comrades 
 again made him take the leisure to enter this contest. 
 He was the crack rider of our county, and even the 
 whole state had shown no better. So it was with 
 unbounded pride and admiration that our people 
 counted on his winning first honors, even the state 
 papers had mentioned him as a possible winner. If 
 he looked handsome as a ragged, barefoot soldier, he 
 looked kingly as this knight of olden times. 
 
 Ashley had known Nealie from her earilest child- 
 hood, and in his own quiet way had loved her, but 
 not wishing to render her more uncomfortable by 
 
the: state: tourname:nt. 211 
 
 rharrying her in haste, as he wanted to build a httle 
 nest for her. It was an understanding between them 
 that when he was able they would be united, although 
 he put no restrictions on her going and coming with 
 other young men, though the family knew he hoped to 
 marry her some day. So when the tournament had 
 been arranged to come off at Clayton everyone felt 
 sure that our town would carry off the first honors, 
 and that Ashley and Nealie both would be the ones 
 to wear them. 
 
 Ashley rode a milk white filly, called "Snowball." 
 She was a blooded mare and showed it in her every 
 movement. He had spent much time in training her 
 for the tournament, besides that she was considered 
 about the fastest mare for her size in the state, and it 
 would have to be a very fine racer to beat ''Snowball," 
 so our people said. She came from that great family, 
 "Godolphins" Arabian, who have so many racers to 
 their credit. 
 
 Nat Tomlison, from a few miles out of Clayton, 
 but living in Johnston county, represented a Knight 
 of ''The Star and Garter." He was a fine looking 
 fellow, and in the costume of blue velvet trimmed in 
 white lace, white silk hose, with large diamond buckle 
 on garter and diamond star on heart, helmet with blue 
 plumes, and white gauntlets, made another handsome 
 knight. His horse was brown with a white star in 
 forehead, a showy looking animal with a long mane 
 and tail, plaited and tied with blue ribbons. Her 
 name was "Brownie." 
 
 Jesse Ellington, another knight, handsome of face 
 
212 forge:t-me-nots of the civiIv war. 
 
 and form, appeared on the list as ''Knight of Lochin- 
 var," in Scottish plaids and kilts, looking the part of 
 the young chieftain to perfection. The horse he was 
 riding was a blood bay, with white stockings, a hand- 
 some animal and quite spirited looking. He was 
 called "Lucky Boy." 
 
 Hardie Home as "Knight of Isabella," was cos- 
 tumed in black and yellow satin. He was riding a 
 claybank gelding of unusually good style, called the 
 "Emperor." 
 
 Bijou Satre came out as "Richard, Couer de Leon," 
 in black velvet and gold lace, a helmet with a gold 
 plume made him an attractive rider, mounted on a 
 coal black horse, restless and very spirited, well named 
 as "Black Diamond." 
 
 . John Johns, "Knight of St. Thomas," wearing sap- 
 phire blue velvet, trimmed in white lace, helmet with 
 sapphire plumes. He was riding a reddish sorrel horse 
 with white feet, a red mane and tail. She was a racy 
 looking little thing called "Beauty." 
 
 Sim Poole as "Knight of St. John," wore a magenta 
 red velvet, trimmed in white lace, helmet from which 
 depended a long magenta plume and white gauntlets 
 completed a very effective costume. He rode a roan 
 colored mare with a short bob tail, with "Queenie" 
 for her name. 
 
 Billy Hinton from Wilmington was wearing an 
 emerald green velvet costume, and as "Knight of St. 
 Patrick," was appropriately dressed. He rode a bay 
 gelding with long black mane and tail, with a great 
 deal of style, called "Erin." 
 
the: state: tourname:nt. 213 
 
 Archie Rhodes from Wilson, ''Knight of St. An- 
 thony," was in golden brown satin, and helmet with 
 golden brown plumes. He rode a bay mare with 
 black markings, "J^wel" by name. 
 
 John Dodd of Raleigh, ''Knight of St. Thomas," 
 wore a grey satin costume with silver trimmings, and 
 rode a grey horse. A quiet looking horse, though a 
 good runner, called "Cyclone." 
 
 George Battle, as "Knight of St. Louis," did great 
 credit to Rocky Mount, his home. His costume was 
 gorgeous. A rich scarlet velvet, trimmed in silver 
 lace; helmet with scarlet plumes. He rode the 
 "Princess," a beautiful bay mare with dappled spots, 
 showing great spirit and training. 
 
 The "Unknown Knight," whose identity was 
 unknown, except to the judges, was costumed in white 
 and gold satin, which set off his handsome form to 
 perfection; the helmet, white, with golden plumes, 
 white gauntlets, though a small black mask covered 
 his eyes and mouth, completed the most elegant cos- 
 tume of all the knights. He carried at first a shield 
 of gold and on it was emblazoned the coat of arms 
 of North Carolina. 
 
 The "Unknown Knight" had evidently come from 
 a distant county, for no one seemed to recognize either 
 horse or rider. He was riding a chestnut hlly, as 
 neat and trim a little animal as ever entered a race; 
 she was well groomed, and truly a thoroughbred; her 
 flaxen mane and tail were both cropped after the Eng- 
 lish fashion; her head was small, the ears also, and 
 keenly pointed, which she held well forward; 
 
214 FORGET-ME-NOTS OE THE CIVII. WAR. 
 
 the eyes large and intelligent, seemed to be- 
 speak your approval; the neck long, arched 
 and small, she carried well up, and needed 
 no check rein ; her limbs were small and 
 sinewy, small feet, with hoofs so polished that they 
 reflected the objects around; she was not a restless 
 steed, but on the contrary would close her eyes and 
 rest whenever an opportunity presented itself, but once 
 started on a run you could see every movement was 
 filled with life and quivering with suppressed energy. 
 A word or touch of the spur acted like magic, and 
 like the wind she gathered her powers from some 
 source that seemed to increase when called upon. 
 
 As the ''Unknown Knight" sat his horse as part 
 of himself, one could not help seeing how both horse 
 and rider were as graceful, in every line, as ever rode 
 through old North Carolina. The cavalier was never 
 stamped more plainly on any one than on this stranger 
 knight. 
 
 The course to be run was around the race track. An 
 arch had been built across the track where the finish 
 was made. From a cross bar at the top were fastened 
 at regular intervals, four iron chains with hooks. At 
 the lower end of these hooks were suspended as many 
 iron rings two inches in diameter, and could be easily 
 lifted off by the lance, which measured about ten feet 
 in length. 
 
 The knights were to put their horses in a run and 
 come with full speed from the quarter stretch to the 
 finish, then poising their lances, lift the rings 
 from the hooks as they rode underneath them. Each 
 
THE STATE TOURNAMENT. 215 
 
 rider was assigned a number and position, by drawing 
 for them. The judges and grand stands were oppo- 
 site the arch, and gave full view of the knights as 
 they finished their run. The knights making fastest 
 time and the ones also taking a ring at the same time 
 to be counted as winners. 
 
Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the West; 
 
 Through all the wide border his steed was the best; 
 And save his good broad-sword, he weapons had none; 
 
 He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. 
 So faithful in love and so dauntless in war. 
 
 There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. 
 
 — Sir Walter Scott. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 The Great Race. 
 
 The hour had arrived for the races to begin, and the 
 great bell hanging near the judges' stand began to 
 clang, its very tones vibrating with martial sounds, 
 as it seemed to bid the knights to come forth and 
 show the crowd that the days of chivalry had not 
 passed, and to bid them all a cordial welcome. Clang, 
 clang, clang it kept repeating, its tones gradually dy- 
 ing away as the notes of a bugler clad in armour rode 
 forth filling the air with the "Turkish Reveille." Fol- 
 lowing in his wake came the noble knights in such a 
 blaze of light and color as to cause the multitude to 
 shout for the very pleasure of looking upon such a 
 gorgeous spectacle. 
 
 Twelve knights mounted on their restive steeds, 
 whose trappings were in keeping in color with their 
 masters' costumes, were riding four abreast; each 
 thoroughbred showing they were perfectly at home 
 on this circular course. They pawed the soft earth so 
 disdainfully and picked their dainty little feet up as 
 daintily as a grand dame might have done. 
 
 "Snowball," "Black Diamond" and "Brownie," co- 
 quetting as it were, with the others. They were the fa- 
 vorites of that vast throng, as they halted in front of 
 
 217 
 
218 i^orge:t-mi:-nots oi^ the civii. war. 
 
 the judges' stand to receive the instructions and rules 
 of the tournament. The young ladies in the grand stand 
 had suddenly become so much interested and excited 
 in the ''Unknown Knight," he could not pass without 
 such applause and waving of handkerchiefs as must 
 have gratified his vanity. The very fact that he was 
 masked made him more interesting to each girl, to 
 say nothing of the curiosity inherent in us all. 
 
 The Knights then drew a number and had a posi- 
 tion in the race assigned to them, then clapping spurs 
 to their chargers, they each in their respective positions 
 made a dash around the track. With the long yellow 
 lances glittering in the bright sunlight, like burnished 
 gold, poised in the air, ready for the tilt when the 
 rings would be lifted off the hooks. These grand 
 knights, looking like they belonged to another age 
 and people, made a gorgeous spectacle, and one long 
 to be remembered by those fortunate enough to be 
 present. 
 
 The race track was a mile around and gave a test 
 of speed and physical endurance to both horses and 
 riders. The rider having to maintain his position on 
 the course and the posture of his lance to catch off 
 the rings as he passed under the arch. 
 
 After a dash around the track, the first division 
 of Knights was called. These four made a great show 
 of starting, and after three attempts they came down to 
 the arch together, the flag was lowered and the starter 
 cried "Go," and away they went at full gallop, "Snow- 
 ball" on the outside, "Black Diamond" next to her, 
 their contrast as it were making a foil for each other's 
 
the; great race:. 219 
 
 beauty. ''Brownie" was in third position, while "Erin" 
 had the inside of the track, making a shorter distance 
 for him to go, besides giving him the advantage. 
 
 The horses were in good shape, barring a curb that 
 "Erin" carried on his right hock, they all looked 
 to be in perfect condition. There was little difference 
 in the time they were making, and only at the quarter 
 stretch did they begin to make an effort. "Erin's" mas- 
 ter making a plunge forward that put the others on 
 their guard, and each in turn, either by .spur or bridle, 
 increased their speed. Then a nose would be seen in 
 front, sometimes a head, then the withers, and with 
 lengthened strides, each movement brought them nearer 
 to the arch. Then came "Snowball," the radiant, darting 
 a luminous light, and shot past the others, her rider 
 poised in position, his golden lance like a ray of yellow 
 sunlight, gleaming along the track, wrested the first 
 ring from the hook. "Black Diamond," his coat of 
 glossy black glistening like a sheen of satin, began to 
 forge a trifle ahead, with "Erin" close to his heels, but 
 suddenly "Brownie," beginning to warm up to her 
 work, rushed past "Erin," and side by side with "Black 
 Diamond," the twain came thundering down the 
 stretch, and nearer and nearer to the finish. The arch 
 was almost reached, the riders had assumed the pos- 
 ture for taking off the rings, when "Erin's" rider's 
 lance slipped from his hand as he was tightening his 
 grip on it and struck "Black Diamond," causing them 
 to rear up and in consequence losing the rings. 
 "Brownie's" rider made a dash for the arch, and with 
 his steady hand and eye lifted the ring on his lance 
 
220 forget-me:-nots of the; civii, war. 
 
 and was accorded second place, amid loud and pro- 
 longed applause. 
 
 Then they made their way back to the paddock to be 
 prepared for the next race. Nealie and our party were 
 so excited we could hardly sit still for fear our favor- 
 ites w^ould not win. ''How glad I am to see Ashley 
 win the first race, for he has tried so hard to make 
 this tournament a success," she exclaimed. "I am cer- 
 tain he will win easily," I replied. ''But see there 
 are other good riders too," she remarked. 
 
 A few moments more and the old bell began to clang 
 again, saying to the knights now entering the track, 
 "Come try your luck." 
 
 Next came the second division of knights. 
 "Beauty," a red sorrel, whose coat was a sunny red, 
 was a dainty little thing, with a big white star in 
 her forehead. She tossed her proud head as if in 
 defiance of her competitors. 
 
 "Queenie," a roan, not pretty to look at, but once 
 on the run was a graceful racer. 
 
 "Lucky Boy," a beautiful blood-bay gelding, whose 
 lines were built in a more generous mould, was a racy 
 looking fellow. 
 
 '.'Cyclone," his mate in build, was a grey with dap- 
 ples so dark that all the ladies exclaimed, "O, how 
 beautiful!" 
 
 These four knights were accorded unstinted applause 
 as they passed the grand stand. When the bell tapped 
 they were in position, and the start was made on 
 the second attempt. The race was between the pairs, 
 "Lucky Boy" and "Cyclone" on the outside, neck and 
 
THE GREAT RACE. % 221 
 
 neck, while ''Beauty" and ''Queenie" were side by side, 
 near the rail. The half mile was made with no effort, 
 but when the three quarters was reached, "St. Francis" 
 put spurs to the ''Cyclone" and he shot out like a 
 bird, and getting his position for the arch he grace- 
 fully picked off a ring, amid the shouts of the beholders. 
 
 "St. Thomas" took another ring at the moment 
 "Queenie" reached the arch, and her master vaulted 
 lightly in his saddle and took another. "Lochinvar" 
 had "Lucky Boy" well in hand, but a swerve of the 
 lance and he missed the prize, as his friends groaned 
 at this "unlucky boy." 
 
 Again the gong sounded and out rode the last divis- 
 ion of knights. 
 
 First came the "Unknown Knight" mounted on 
 "Sunbeam," "Jewell," ridden by Knight of "St. An- 
 thony;" "Princess" Master, Knight of "St. Louis," 
 and the Spanish Knight riding "Emperor," a black 
 stallion. 
 
 These four were gorgeous in costumes and trap- 
 pings, and elicited round after round of applause. The 
 signal was given and they made the start that sent 
 them off on the first trial. The crowd almost held its 
 breath in anticipation of the finish. "Sunbeam" shot 
 out like a veritable sun burst on a cloudy day, her 
 master gently holding her back. These four kept 
 together until the quarter was passed. The crowd 
 yelled louder and louder, calling for their favorites 
 to come in first. "Sunbeam," with no more effort than 
 a ray of light makes to pierce the darkness, simply 
 made one headlong leap and she was a length ahead 
 
222 forge^t-me;-nots o^ the: civil war. 
 
 of her rivals; the ''Unknown Knight" vaulted lightly in 
 his saddle and slipped off a ring so easily that shouts 
 from the crowd rent the air. Following closely was 
 ''St. Louis" on "Princess," the grey mare. He sat as if 
 a part of the steed, and with a slight rise in his stir- 
 rups, he also lifted a ring. Then "St. Anthony," on 
 "Jewel," clapped spurs to his charger, and with his 
 gilded spear gleaming in the sunlight, he too carried 
 away another ring. "Knight of Isabella," riding the 
 "Emperor," barely missing by a slight swerving of the 
 lance. 
 
 The vast throng by this time was in such good 
 humor with everything that they accorded to these 
 four knights such prolonged shouts of approval 
 it was easily seen that more than one would be a 
 winner from this division. 
 
 A rest was allowed for grooming and getting ready 
 for the trial and test race. Such chattering among the 
 ladies. "Now who in the world is the "Unknown 
 Knight?" Isn't he handsome even with his mask 
 hiding so much of his face?" 
 
 "I wonder if we know him," was whispered among 
 the fair ones. We all made guesses and bets as to 
 who he might be, but no one knew or would tell, so 
 our curiosity only gave greater enjoyment to the rare 
 sport. 
 
 The band played "The Sweetest Girl in Dixie," and 
 the gong called forth the first division for the second 
 race. "Henry of Navarre" entered, followed by "Star 
 and Garter," "St. Patrick" and "Richard, Couer de 
 Leon," when the bell again tapped for them to 
 
the: gre:at. race. 223 
 
 start. "Snowball" was first in her place, and 
 steadily kept the lead. This was a beautiful 
 race, even if no rings had been taken, and 
 the spectators nearly shouted themselves hoarse, call- 
 ing for their favorites to come in first. As the horses 
 neared the arch, each rider arose as one man to get 
 more perfect poise of lance, and at the same instant 
 all four were at the arch, ready with four lances glit- 
 tering as one. ''Henry of Navarre" reached and took 
 another ring. '\Star and Garter" a second, but ''St. 
 Patrick" and "Richard," "Couer de Leon's" horses 
 became frightened and bolted from the track, much to 
 the regret of all present. 
 
 Then came an ovation to "Henry of Navarre" as he 
 rode off the track, and Nealie and I were by no means 
 silent, but cheered and waved our kerchiefs as he 
 passed. 
 
 Then the gong sounded again, the second division 
 of the second race came forth. "St. Thomas" in the 
 lead, followed by "St. John," "St. Francis" and 
 "Lochinvar." As the first quarter was passed "St. 
 Thomas" gathered "Beauty," the sorrel filly, up with 
 his reins, and with a touch of the golden spurs, she 
 shot out like a cannon ball, passed the little "Cyclone," 
 as the knight lifted his lance and took off another 
 ring. The other knights failed to take a ring, though 
 they made one of the fastest records that day. The 
 applause grew louder, and waving of flags and hand- 
 kerchiefs continued till the knights had disappeared 
 from the track. 
 
 After a wait of fifteen minutes the gong sounded 
 
224 forg^t-me:-nots o^ the: civil war. 
 
 again, and out rode the third division in the second 
 race. Not one, but all four seemed a favorite as they 
 rode by the grand stand; they w^ere massed as one, 
 and the horses kept themselves on the alert as it were. 
 ''Sunbeam," "Emperor," "Jewel" and "Princess" were 
 each quivering with suppressed energy. The nearer 
 they drew to the home stretch, and as each rider, pre- 
 pared for taking a ring, faster and faster flew their 
 chargers until with a bound and a tilt the arch was 
 reached and the "Unknown Knight" and "St. Louis" 
 each carried away a ring. 
 
 Such applause as now rent the air, seemed deafening 
 and bid fair to continue as long as these handsome 
 knights remained on the track. 
 
 Then another wait of fifteen minutes, during which 
 the judges declared that time would not permit more 
 than one other race before dark, and decided to have 
 only the ones who had taken rings first, and made 
 faster time, enter this contest, and that the first ones 
 under the arch to take off a ring, should be declared 
 first winners. This seemed as much a race of speed 
 as of skill in poise and directing the golden lances. 
 The excitement even increased, if that were possible. 
 
 The bell tapped as these gallant young knights 
 passed the grand stand, their horses as it were keep- 
 ing time to the strains of "America," inspired each 
 knight to win for his fair lady. By this time the 
 sporting blood was aroused, and every one was begin- 
 ning to make bets, even the girls were wagering bon 
 bons, handkerchiefs, etc., etc., while the men were 
 playing for larger stakes. 
 
the: great race). ' 225 
 
 The "Unknown Knight" was not a favorite among 
 the Clayton men, because he was masked, but they saw 
 he was skillful and even better than their best. They 
 were jealous for a stranger to come in and win the 
 laurels from the home talent, but still it must be a fair 
 field and no favorites, even if the stranger did carry off 
 the first honors. So when the judges named the ''Un- 
 known Knight" winner of the first honors there was 
 applause, but when "Henry of Navarre" came second 
 they yelled louder and showed they would have liked 
 him for first. 
 
 On investigation it was found that the "Unknown 
 Knight," "Henry of Navarre," "Richard Couer de 
 Leon" and "St. Thomas," had made faster time to 
 the arch and had been first to lift a ring from the 
 hook, so they were to ride for first honors, in the 
 same order as the time they had made. 
 
 A more beautiful sight I have never seen than those 
 four knights made as they rode forth to win. The bell 
 tapped amid the shouts that filled the air and away 
 went the brave riders. "Henry of Navarre," "Richard 
 Couer de Leon," "St. Thomas" and the "Unknown 
 Knight," their horses almost touched each other, 
 and faster this time than ever, their nostrils 
 dilated, until they seemed living coals of fire; 
 their every nerve so tense, they stood out like 
 whip cords, as nearer and nearer to the quarter 
 stretch they drew, hardly a hair's breadth ahead, yet 
 the faster their fiery steeds seemed to fly, the nearer 
 they kept together. At one time "Snowball's" nose 
 seemed to indicate that she was ahead, and then such 
 
226 FORGET-MK-NOTS OF THE CIVIL WAR. 
 
 wild shouts for ''Henry of Navarre!" ''Come on, 
 Henry, you can win easily, let "Snowball" out and 
 come on!" "Snowball" — so each one seemed a fa- 
 vorite as their friends shouted themselves hoarse for 
 them, such a ride to the finish has never been seen 
 since. "Black Diamond," at one moment seemed to 
 be a fraction ahead, then "Cyclone," but "Sunbeam" 
 had never in the slightest changed her gait. Her 
 master knew she was doing well so remained per- 
 fectly passive, indeed he might have been an automaton 
 for anything he did, until "Henry of Navarre" sunk 
 the golden spurs deeper into the quivering flesh of 
 "Snowball" as she bounded a length ahead, the "Un- 
 known Knight," with a gentle motion of the bridle, 
 gathered the reins and like a steam engine, she 
 let go her pent up forces and gave a sudden burst 
 of speed that made the spectators wild, as "Sunbeam" 
 neared the arch. "Henry of Navarre" and the 
 stranger Knight so close together, it was as one to 
 the onlookers. So they continued to ride neck and 
 neck almost to the finish. "Sunbeam" felt "Snow- 
 ball" almost touching her flanks, and with ears 
 pricked up, eyes dilated, every sinew quivering the 
 two riders touching, almost, they reached the quarter 
 and assumed the poise for the taking of another ring, 
 when a flaw of wind blew the mask and caused it to 
 cover the eyes of the "Unknown Knight," as he was 
 on the outside and nearest the grandstand, the spec- 
 tators shouted for another chance to be given him, 
 apparently heedless to everything but the work he in- 
 tended "Sunbeam" to do, he dropped the reins from his 
 
THE GREAT RACE. 227 
 
 left hand and in the twinkHng of an eye, adjusted 
 the mask in its place as they neared the arch. With 
 wild yells of approval at this master stroke, the crowd 
 shouted "The 'Unknown Knight' wins!" Standing in 
 his stirrup he whispered one word to ''Sunbeam," ''go," 
 one touch of the golden spur and she bounded a length 
 ahead of "Snowball" who, with the instinct of her 
 thoroughbred nature, and blowing her hot breath on 
 "Sunbeam's" neck, with all the strength and force 
 within her, struggled to keep the lead, but even she 
 had no more reserve force, and was compelled to drop 
 a length behind. "Sunbeam" felt the guiding hand of 
 her master, whose calm and gentle touch like an electric 
 charge sent renewed vigor and life into her quivering 
 nerves. One second more and she would reach the 
 arch, and with the hot foam burning her neck she 
 shook herself clear of her rivals, the "Unknown 
 Knight" still standing in his stirrups, the golden lance 
 clutched tightly in his right hand, and with one mighty 
 bound "Sunbeam" reached the goal, and her master 
 took off the coveted ring — he a winner of first honors 
 and she the queen of racers. 
 
The lady, in truth, was young, fair and gentle; and never 
 
 was given 
 To more heavenly eyes the pure azure of heaven. 
 Never yet did the sun touch to ripples of gold 
 Tresses brighter than those which her soft hand unrolled 
 From her noble and innocent brow, when she rose. 
 An Aurora, at dawn, from her balmy repose. 
 And into the mirror the bloom and the blush 
 Of her beauty broke, glowing, like light in a gush from the 
 
 sunrise in summer. 
 
 — Owen Mebedith. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 This Crowning of Ne:alie: for Que:en. 
 
 The four knights with faces flushed, great beads 
 of perspiration standing on their foreheads, but 
 smiling, rode up to the judges' stand, where the 
 names were read out, for honors, the ''Unknown 
 Knight," first; ''Henry of Navarre," second; "Richard 
 Couer de Leon," third; and "St. Thomas," fourth, 
 amid the deafening shouts of the multitude. 
 
 The successful knights then were given laurel 
 wreaths, which they placed on their spears and riding 
 around to the grand stand, the "Unknown Knight" 
 scanned the blushing faces of all this bevy of pretty 
 women, finally his eyes rested on Nealie, and without 
 another moment's hesitation he dropped the wreath at 
 my sister's feet. Blushing deeply she stooped, picked 
 up the wreath and placed it on the golden lance. The 
 "Unknown Knight" then placed it around the neck of 
 "Sunbeam," as if to show how much he appreciated 
 her efforts at helping him win the first honors. 
 
 Next came Ashley Sidney, as "Henry of Navarre," 
 but with such a scowl of dissatisfaction on his face that 
 strangers wondered what had happened to cloud his 
 erstwhile handsome face. Then looking up and down 
 this line of beautiful faces, he finally moved along and 
 
 229 
 
230 i?orge:t-me:-nots of the civii, war. 
 
 deposited the laurel wreath at the feet of Miss Nannie 
 Johns, the belle of Wake county. She colored up at 
 the honor, and with a bow and a smile, placed the 
 wreath upon his lance. 
 
 Then came Nat Tomlinson, the third knight, and 
 looking as if to find the one pretty face among the 
 bevy of beauty, he dropped the wreath at the feet of 
 Miss Julia Ellington. Following him rode forth the 
 last of the victors, and with a happy smiling face, his 
 golden lance let fall the wreath at the feet of Mollie 
 McCullers. She too accepted, with visible pleasure, 
 the honor Mr. Bijou Satre conferred on her. Follow- 
 ing the example of their chief, each knight placed the 
 wreath of laurel around the necks of the faithful 
 steeds, that had made it possible for them to win. The 
 four champions clapped spurs to their horses and 
 away they went around the track again, amid the 
 shouts and applause of the multitude. I was sitting 
 near Nealie and her friends and felt quite as pleased 
 as if the honors had been mine. Glancing at 
 her beautiful face, aglow with joy and excite- 
 ment, I thought he could not conscientiously have done 
 other than to crown her the real Queen of Beauty. 
 She was surrounded as usual by a number of admirers, 
 of both sexes, who had enjoyed everything to the full- 
 est that day so long to be remembered by us all. 
 After awhile I arose and slipping in a vacant seat 
 near her, took her hand and said, "1 am so glad." 
 She whispered "What will Ashley say? He told me 
 he meant to crown me, but Bettie," she murmured in a 
 low tone, "I could not resist, when the successful 
 
THE CROWNING OF NEAUE FOR QUEEN. 231 
 
 knight scanned the faces of this galaxy of beautiful 
 women and laid the wreath at my feet, do anything 
 else but accept the honor, for I consider it the high- 
 est compliment to be chosen Queen, when there are 
 others more beautiful than I, besides I know the 
 ''Unknown Knight" is a gentleman, for the committee 
 have had all the names for a month, and none but 
 the best from the "Old North State" were permitted to 
 enter the contest." ''You ought to be the Queen 
 because you are the very prettist girl here," I re- 
 marked. "I am so glad, just think Bettie what it 
 means for a rank stranger to select me from among 
 all these pretty girls," she replied. "Well, you are 
 the very prettiest here, to my thinking, sister," I whis- 
 pered. "Oh, pshaw, that's because you love me so 
 much." Here she gave my hand a little squeeze. Just 
 then the chairman of the committee came up and said, 
 "Ladies, I wish you to remain seated a few moments 
 longer. I wish to present the Knights to you, so you 
 may make all suitable arrangements about the ball this 
 evening. The Queen, Miss Lee, lives here in Clay- 
 ton and will take pleasure in telling you how to find 
 the things necessary." 
 
 My sister knew all the maids, except Miss Johns, 
 and as the introduction was being made she took 
 occasion to invite the maids to our house to take sup- 
 per and dress for the ball, as the hotel accommodations 
 were very poor. They seemed pleased to be the guest 
 of the Queen and have a chance to talk over the all 
 important matter of dress for the evening. 
 
 "Oh, Col. Fairbault, please tell me who my gallant 
 
232 FORGET-ME-NOTS OF THE) CIVII, WAR. 
 
 Knight is, and what's his name, and where's his 
 hame," my sister pleaded. 
 
 "Here they come; allow me. Miss Lee, to present 
 Mr. Howell of old Wake county, of course you've 
 heard of Tom Howell many times, for his fame has 
 gone abroad as a tournament rider." 
 
 Then each maid met her knight. Tom Howell came 
 up, flushed with his success, as handsome as Apollo, 
 his classical face was not more handsome than 
 his manly form. There was a personal mag- 
 netism about him that he impressed on every one. 
 To me, a miss of fourteen, he appeared a veritable 
 king, even Ashley Sidney, whom I had always thought 
 so handsome, faded now into an ordinary looking 
 man. 
 
 After the introductions were over and these royal 
 personages were arranging to escort the ladies to 
 our house, I slipped away unnoticed to help Aunt Pal- 
 las prepare supper, and tell her all about the ''Toona- 
 munt," as she called it. 
 
 "Well, I alius knowd Pussie wuz de purtiest child 
 her mammy ever had, but you poah little ugly Betsey 
 shor'll never be a Queen." 
 
 "Well, I'm glad somebody in the family is anyway," 
 I curtly replied, not relishing the fact that I was so 
 ugly that I never could be a "Queen." 
 
In the midst was seen, 
 
 A lady of a more majestic mien, 
 By stature and by beauty marked their Sovereign Queen. 
 
 And as in beauty she surpassed the choir. 
 So nobler than the rest was her attire; 
 
 A crown of ruddy gold enclosed her brow. 
 Plain without pomp, and rich without a show, 
 
 A branch of Agnus Cactus in her hand. 
 She bore aloft her symbol of command. 
 
 The Flower and the Leaf. 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 Thiv Coronation Ball. 
 
 That evening I was called upon many times to help 
 the Queen and maids array themselves in all their 
 finery. My sister Nealie had made a simple white 
 mull, not knowing that she would be the most honored 
 lady in the state that evening at least, and her beauty 
 was the more enhanced for this very simplicity. The 
 filmy mull had a touch of old Brussels lace, the waist 
 made with a round neck from which fell a bertha of 
 the same. From the short sleeves depended a fall 
 of this lace. The skirt was tucked with insertions of 
 the same. She wore no jewels save a necklace of 
 pearls, that had belonged to my father's mother, and 
 had been saved for us by Mr. Bunting, the guard Gen- 
 eral Sherman sent to us. Her beautiful sunbrown 
 hair was done in a Psyche knot, with masses of little 
 curls peeping out. When I tied the white sash around 
 her slender waist and saw reflected from the mirror 
 the most beautiful vision of loveliness I could not 
 help feeling a pang of something akin to envy, and 
 I know the other girls felt the same. 
 
 Nannie Johns wore a pale pink lute string silk with 
 cream Spanish lace trimmings. Mollie McCullers 
 was gowned in pale blue organdie. Julia Ellington 
 
 235 
 
236 FORGET- ME:-N0TS 01!' THE CIVII. WAR. 
 
 looked lovely in a white dotted swiss trimmed in Valen- 
 ciennes lace. 
 
 When the omnibus drew up to our gate and these 
 gallant knights took their Queen and maids to the ball, 
 it was truly a novel sight. When they reached the 
 ball room all the balance of the knights who had con- 
 tested in the afternoon, met them at the door and 
 escorted the party to the platform, where the judges 
 were seated. 
 
 Col. Fairbault arose as these couples drew near, 
 and in a few remarks, complimented the knights on 
 their excellent taste in selecting these beautiful girls 
 to wear the honprs, and as four little girls preceded 
 them, dressed in white, bearing crimson velvet cushions 
 on which were resting the jewelled crowns. The 
 Queen's was a fac-simile of Queen Victoria's, the 
 others more like the ducal coronets. 
 
 When Col. Fairbault finished his speech, he took the 
 crown and presented it to the knight, who then placed 
 it on the brow of my sister, Nealie, each knight crown- 
 ing his fair lady; then the Coronation March was 
 played by Johnston's band from Wilmington. This 
 grand march was led by the successful knights and 
 ladies, Tom Howell and my sister leading. 
 
 Ashley was jealous of another winning the coveted 
 prize of crowning the Queen of love and beauty on 
 this auspicious occasion, especially since that one was 
 the girl he had loved so long. Still there was enough 
 of the chevalier in his make up to bear the disappoint- 
 ment without an outward sign to his opponent. So 
 much for the schooling he had received while being a 
 
THE^ CORONATION BALI.. 237 
 
 soldier in the war; and the old saying "that all's fair 
 in love and war," made him willing to give this stran- 
 ger a chance to meet and possibly win the girl he 
 loved. 
 
 As the evening advanced my sister Nealie remarked 
 to Mr. Tom Howell, "It was so kind of you to crown 
 me Queen, when I was a stranger and you knew Miss 
 Johns, too. I can't understand why you selected me," 
 she innocently remarked. He simply remarked, "Why 
 does the magnet turn to the pole?" She ignored this, 
 but when the next waltz with Ashley, he said, "Nealie, 
 I can't bear to see you with Tom Howell, and I want 
 you to tell me tonight, that my love for you all these 
 years is not in vain, that a handsome fellow like How- 
 ell can't come in and win you from me. Promise me 
 now that you will marry me before the winter is over. 
 I can make you comfortable and I will not let a 
 stranger come and take you from me. Promise me 
 now to be my wife. I can't have Howell and myself 
 both paying court to you at the same time." 
 
 She looked up into his lovelit brown eyes and saw 
 there a love that only death would obliterate, and 
 answered timidly, "I will be your wife, Ashley, never 
 fear Tom Howell. I am not so fickle as you may 
 think." 
 
 That night when Mr. Howell escorted her home 
 from the ball and was ready to leave, he asked, "Miss 
 Lee, will you permit me to visit you sometime in the 
 near future? I must see you before long, don't put 
 it off." She hesitated, and then remembering how 
 long he had loved her and how loyal Ashley had been, 
 
238 FORGET-ME-NOTS OF THE) Civile WAR. 
 
 replied, "Mr. Howell, you have paid me the highest 
 compliment by crowning me Queen of this ball, and I 
 sincerely thank you and greatly appreciate the honor, 
 and I offer you the hospitality of my home at any time, 
 but I must be frank with you and tell you that I am en- 
 gaged to Mr. Sidney and will be married very shortly. 
 I could not embarrass you this afternoon by refusing 
 the crown, but thought the easiest way was to 
 accept it. Again I thank you very much. He took her 
 hand and pressed it, as he said "Farewell, Miss Lee, I 
 envy Sidney more than you'll ever know," and he was 
 gone. 
 
Two wedded from the portals stept: 
 The bells made happy caroUings, 
 The air was soft as fanning wings. 
 White petals on the pathway slept, 
 
 O pure-eyed bride! 
 
 O tender pride! 
 
 — George Elliot. 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 The: Marriage: o.^ Ashle:y and Ne:alie:. 
 
 It took the staid little town of Clayton some time 
 to recover from the effects of the great state tourna- 
 ment. Such a grand event, gave the inhabitants food 
 for gossip for many months, the pride that each one 
 felt in living in such a town as had immortalized itself 
 by such deeds of knight errantry, showed either in the 
 conversation or the manner of our people. No other 
 town in the "Old North State," before nor since the 
 war, had been able to do more than show little 
 riding contests, but to give a tournament in 
 regal costumes, and then the Queen being a native 
 of that town and the second best rider a resi- 
 dent from his birth, was enough to make Claytonites 
 so exclusive that many years passed before they even 
 cared for the town to grow any more lest they would 
 blot out the old race track or destroy some other land- 
 marks of past greatness; indeed no one wanted any 
 strangers within her gates, for we were sufficient unto 
 ourselves. Ashley and Nealie, however, decided to 
 marry at an early day, while I continued to trudge 
 daily to the old Academy to learn what Prof. White 
 could teach me. 
 
 The wedding of Nealie and Ashley was quietly 
 
 241 
 
242 FORGET-ME-NOTS O? THE CIVIL WAR. 
 
 celebrated, both of them preferring it should be so. 
 The ceremony was performed by Dr. Ellington, and 
 they went immediately to the little home he had pre- 
 pared for her. 
 
 My mother did not give her up willingly, for her 
 children were so much a part of herself, it was like 
 tearing her heart out, still the nearness to our home 
 and the good man she was getting made her see the 
 wisdom of such a choice, and put no obstacles in the 
 way. 
 
 It was odd to see such a "queen among men," as 
 Nealie had always been, settle down to domestic life, 
 and seem perfectly happy with the admiration and 
 love of one man, for she had played with many a 
 young man's heart, though I believe she was always 
 sincere and honest in it at the time. 
 
 There seemed so few ways of amusing ourselves 
 after the tournament, that our young people had re- 
 course to many things, but everything seemed tame 
 compared to that great event. Yet we girls were still 
 hoping that something equally as exciting might come 
 along, though the only real excitement was caused by 
 "trying our fortunes" in various ways. The first day 
 of May was auspicious for such things as looking in 
 the well to see our future husband reflected from a 
 mirror, which we held over the well ; sometimes a face 
 would be reflected and sometimes, the old maids tell 
 us, that a coffin would appear instead, and that was a 
 sure sign that we would always remain single, but 
 another better and surer way "to try our future" was 
 on Hallow E'en. One of my friends told me of such 
 
the: marriage of ASHLEY AND NEAUE. 243 
 
 a new way, that we made up our minds to try it when 
 Hallow E'en came. Addie Terrel came over to see 
 me and said: 
 
 "Well, Bettie, tonight is the time to try our for- 
 tunes and see if we are ever to marry, or are doomed 
 to be old maids." "Are you going to try it the egg 
 fashion?" I asked. "Yes, we both have to cook an 
 egg and peel it, then cut into halves, taking out the 
 yolk, filling the whites with table salt, and eating these 
 without drinking one drop of water, or other kind of 
 liquid, and going to bed to dream of your future hus- 
 band giving you a drink of water, and which if given 
 in a gourd means you will marry a poor man, but if 
 given in a glass, means he will be rich. During the 
 whole time you are preparing the egg, both of us have 
 to do everything at the same time, for instance like 
 both taking hold of the egg and both putting it on to 
 boil, both taking it out and both peeling and cutting 
 it in two, and eating it also at the same time, but be 
 sure to keep silent, for if one word is spoken from the 
 beginning until the night is over and you have 
 dreamed, the charm will be broken, and it will be no 
 use to proceed further with trying to find out who our 
 future husbands will be, and whether v/e shall marry 
 rich or poor men." 
 
 It was one of the most diflficult feats I ever tried 
 to perform, to keep from speaking, and to keep fiom 
 laughing was even worse, and I am sure we did snicker 
 once or twice before we finished our repast. We both 
 dreamed, but my friend's dream was easily inter- 
 preted, for the young man that gave her the drink 
 of water was one we both knew. 
 
244 forge:t-me-nots oi^ the civil war. 
 
 ''Well, Addie" I said, ''my dream is so confused 
 I can't interpret any of it, except I was given a drink 
 of water in a glass mug, with the handle broken off, 
 so I think that signifies that he will not be so very 
 rich after all. The young man was handsome, though, 
 and his genial nature shone out even in my dream, 
 but I am sure he will belong to the circus or some- 
 thing queer, for he was riding in one of the oddest 
 looking turnouts I ever saw. Oh, pshaw, I wish I 
 had dreamed of somebody I know, like you did." 
 
 How much of this strange story became the truth, 
 I leave my readers to find out. 
 
FATE. 
 
 Two shall be born, the whole wide world apart. 
 
 And speak in different tongues, and have no thought 
 
 Each of the other's being, and no heed; 
 
 And these o'er unknown seas to unknown lands 
 
 Shall cross, escaping wreck, defying death; 
 
 And all unconsciously shape every act 
 
 And bend each wandering step to this one end — 
 
 That one day, out of darkness, they shall meet 
 
 And read life's meaning in each other's eyes. 
 
 And two shall walk some narrow way of life. 
 
 So nearly side by side that should one turn 
 
 Ever so little space to left or right, 
 
 They must needs acknowledge face to face; 
 
 And yet with wistful eyes that never meet, 
 
 With groping hands that never clasp, and lips 
 
 Calling in vain to ears that never hear. 
 
 They seek each other all their weary days, 
 
 And die unsatisfied — and this is Fate. 
 
 — Susan M. Spalding. 
 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 The Conquering Hero Comes. 
 
 The day was glorious, flooded with sunshine and 
 melody. The song birds were singing their sweet 
 songs of love to their listening mates. The very air 
 was filled with music, for every little warbler in that 
 vast forest was sending out a roundelay of song. The 
 sky was perfectly clear and the ''azure depths" so 
 far away seemed that nothing could cast a shadow 
 over them. 
 
 From the West came a rumbling noise, and pres- 
 ently a beautiful pair of blooded bays came into view, 
 drawing what might be a circus wagon, or a wagon 
 from the fire department. The noise and rumble inter- 
 rupted this musicale that the birds were giving, and 
 disturbed the harmony of all nature on this peaceful 
 day. 
 
 Seated upon a curiously constructed vehicle were 
 two men on a high driver's seat. One was a young 
 man, apparently about nineteen, and a colored driver. 
 Coming near the cross roads, the driver looking up 
 asked, ''Which road mus' I let de bosses take. Mars 
 Jess?" "Oh, it don't matter, Henderson, give the 
 horses the reins and let them go the way they will, 
 it's all luck." 
 
 247 
 
248 ^orget-me:-nots of the civiIv war. 
 
 The driver then slackened the reins and the horses 
 stopped a moment, looked down the roads, and with 
 a toss of the head, the leader started, the off horse 
 looked approvingly at the other, and they both started 
 down the East road. 
 
 "Henderson," said the young man, ''I believe they 
 have taken the Smithfield road, but I reckon it is as 
 good as the Fayetteville, and we shall find as much 
 work on it." 
 
 ''I think we have several hours of hard driving be- 
 fore we reach a town or village, suppose you let the 
 horses step along some." 
 
 Then they lapsed into silence for a few moments, 
 but the young man, evidently of a happy turn, began 
 to whistle, "Won't You Love Me, Mollie Darling," 
 which tune he continued to whistle until the song-birds 
 of the forest had long since quit their warbling to 
 listen to this strange music that filled the air. Finally 
 he stopped and said, "Henderson, tomorrow is Sun- 
 day and we must stop at the first village we reach. I 
 don't want to spend Sunday with the farmers." 
 
 "Dat's right. Mars Jess, dey shore ain't no fun 
 hangin' around dese piney woods, and I sutlinly hope 
 you'll get to a town." "Yes, Henderson, you want 
 to get where you can get something to drink." "Yas, 
 sar, I don't mind if I do, seeins how hit's Sunday and 
 dere ain't no place for me to 'tend church." 
 
 Then the young man began to whistle "Molly Dar- 
 ling" again, and only the rattle of the vehicle and 
 the barking of a dog now and then broke the stillness. 
 
 The horses were a pair of beauties, deep blood bays, 
 
the: conquering he:ro comes. 249 
 
 with a white star on forehead, the only touch of color. 
 The limbs were small with black markings, the long 
 flowing mane and tail giving grace to their move- 
 ments. Their heads were small, — keen pointed ears 
 standing straight forward, with mild eyes, though 
 spirited looking. They were well rounded and sleek 
 as satin, and it was hard to tell which was the faster. 
 Such a perfect match had not been easy to find, and 
 the young man seemed to know it and look upon them 
 with eyes that bespoke how proud he was of 
 them. The young man himself was well 
 worth looking at. He was a fair haired youth, with 
 clear healthy complexion, a nose rather aquiline, deep 
 set blue eyes, a brow that was broad and full. The 
 mouth was well shaped, the corners of which turned 
 up, giving his face a mirthful and happy expression. 
 He was smooth shaven, and showed a chin that was 
 well shaped, though not prominent; while it could not 
 be called weak, it lacked fullness to show a more hand- 
 some face. His form was of medium height and his 
 massive military shoulders and chest showed such a 
 fine development that he appeared less tall than he 
 really was. His arms and limbs were muscular, as if 
 trained in a gymnasium. His hands and feet were 
 noticeably small. Altogether he bore the marks of 
 aristocratic breeding and a highly refined face. 
 
 Still they continued on their way, and the shadows 
 lengthened until the sun, no longer visible, had sunk 
 behind the western hills. The cotton fields, now in 
 full flower, were being deserted by the darkies who 
 had been chopping cotton all day, and still no town 
 
250 FORGET-ME-NOTS OF THE CIVII. . WAR. 
 
 or village seemed near to the travelers. Finally Hen- 
 derson called to one of the hands to know how much 
 farther he had to drive to reach town. "J^st about 
 two miles," was the answer. 
 
 The tall pines standing as sentinels along the road 
 side were no longer to be seen, and in the distance 
 might be seen the little town of Clayton. Henderson 
 drove along the main street until he reached a hotel 
 of rather poor pretentions. Alighting, the young man 
 went inside for a moment and asked if he could be 
 housed for the night and next day, with accommoda- 
 tions for both horses and driver. An answer in the 
 affirmative was given him, and he went back to his 
 team and vehicle. 
 
 In the meantime a large crowd of boys had gathered 
 to find out what this oddly built carriage was. One 
 boy, more inquiring and curious than the others, could 
 not resist asking, "What might this be. Mister? Are 
 you with a circus?" ''No sir, I am not now, but I 
 don't know how soon I may be." 
 
 He was busy unlocking something like a chest, and 
 from this vehicle he took a banjo. The urchins still 
 consumed with curiosity, and not getting any satis- 
 faction from the young man, the same interrogator, 
 not liking to give up, blurted out, 'Td give a yoke 
 of oxen to know what this thing is." "Well, if you 
 won't ask any more questions, I'll tell you." "No, I 
 won't ask any more if you tell me," said he. "Well, 
 it is a Thunder Pole Wagon," said the young man, 
 whereat the poor chap looked more puzzled than ever. 
 Some one in the crowd cried out, "He means a light- 
 
THE CONQUERING HERO COMES. 251 
 
 ning rod wagon." ''Smart boy, go to the head of the 
 class," said the owner, whereupon he set to asking 
 questions himself about the size of the town, the 
 churches, etc. The wise young man answered his 
 questions, and when he told him that there were two 
 churches, a Methodist and a Baptist, our friend said, 
 "Bully, I'll get to go to church tomorrow anyhow." 
 "Yes, but not till after a big baptizing comes off at 
 Stallings Mill Pond, then Dr. Harrell will preach at 
 the Baptist church." "Dr. Harrell, did you say? Why 
 he married my sister and was living in Selma when 
 I heard from them last, but then old preachers are 
 kept moving around. Where do they live?" His in- 
 formant told him how he might reach the home of 
 his sister. 
 
 "Any pretty girls around here?" asked our young 
 friend. "Oh, a few, but they most all have fellers." 
 "That so? Huh! I don't mind to meet a fellow if I 
 can get to see a pretty girl once in a while," said he. 
 "Well, Dr. Harrell's girls are mighty pretty, and lively 
 to beat the band, but our native born pretty girls are 
 Lizzie and Evelyn Creech, Bettie Stallings and Bettie 
 Lee." "Why so many Betties?" "I don't know but 
 I reckon it was the fashion to name 'em Bettie at 
 that time." "Which is the prettiest one?" "Well, 
 that's according to your taste, you better see 'em first." 
 
 After his baggage had been removed and Hender- 
 son given directions where to take the turnout, the 
 young man went in the hotel and going to the register, 
 took the pen and wrote upon a clean page, "Jesse Mer- 
 cer, Wilson, North Carolina." After supper, taking 
 
252 forge:t-me:-nots of the: civii. war. 
 
 his banjo under his arm, he started to find his sister's 
 home, they were more than surprised to see 
 him, his evening was spent most pleasantly, as the 
 girls were very fond of music and he was too, they 
 all made merry till late that evening. 
 
 "Well, girls, what are you going to do tomorrow?" 
 asked Jesse, as he was leaving. ''Going to the baptiz- 
 ing at Stallings Mill," they both cried in one breath. 
 ''Very well, I'll take you on my lightning rod wagon," 
 said he. "Oh no. Uncle Jesse, we're sorry, but we 
 can't go with you, for we have planned to go with 
 Vic Thompson and Bettie Lee in his dump-cart," said 
 Ida, the oldest girl. "The dickens you are, and who 
 is Bettie Lee?" "Oh, Jesse," said his sister Ann, "she's 
 the prettiest thing you ever saw in your life." "She 
 has big brown eyes," said Rosa, "and she has skin 
 as white as a snow bank," said his sister Ann. "She's 
 tall and slender," chimed in Ida, "and has a beautiful 
 nose, though very small and a large mouth, but she 
 is really a pretty girl, but Uncle Jesse, she can't sing 
 a note, for father tried to test her voice to sing in 
 the choir and she broke down and cried before us all 
 and couldn't even sing the scales." "Well, I don't 
 care, Jesse," said his sister, "you'll fall in love with 
 her the moment you lay your eyes on her." "Golly, 
 but I'd like to see her. I can hardly wait till tomor- 
 row." "Well, she has lots of beaux, and that's why 
 she is going with Vic to get rid of the whole 
 bunch for one day." "Oh, we are going to have a 
 picnic in that dump-cart," said Rosa. "Vic is my 
 sweetheart now, but every now and then he goes to 
 
the: conquering hero comes. 253 
 
 see Bettie and tells her how much he loves her, but 
 she just laughs at him and tells him she knows he 
 has had a falling out with his sweetheart. She likes 
 him too well as a friend to let him mistake friendship 
 for love, and he always keeps her for a friend, and 
 she looks upon him as a confidant and true friend." 
 
 "Well, I am going to find some of her beaux to go 
 with me to the baptizing, and see what they say about 
 this beauty." 
 
 'Well, Uncle Jesse," said Ida, ''Bettie would rather 
 run out to keep the calf from drinking the milk than 
 to entertain a porch full of young men and lose the 
 milk. Why I declare. Uncle Jesse, father was there 
 and saw her look out on the street and see a little calf 
 get out of a pasture and run to its mother and begin 
 to drink the milk, when Bettie jumped off the porch 
 and ran at the top of her speed, she can run as 
 fast as a race horse, to separate the little old calf from 
 the cow, and a half dozen young men there too. Why, 
 I wouldn't do that for every cow in the world." 
 
 "Well that's all right, I'm more anxious than ever 
 to see her." 
 
The fountains mingle with the river, 
 
 And the rivers with the ocean; 
 The winds of Heaven mix forever. 
 
 With a sweet emotion; 
 Nothing in the world is single; 
 
 All things by a law divine 
 In one another's being mingle — 
 
 Why not I with thine? 
 
 — Percy Bysshe Shelley. 
 
 {' 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 The Baptizing at Stallings' Mill. 
 
 Sunday morning dawned in unclouded splendor. I 
 was up betimes getting ready for the baptizing. 
 
 Two years had passed since the tournament, and as 
 Nealie had since married I was the only child left 
 with mother. I was still going to school at the old 
 Academy, and had about finished the course. I had 
 grown tall and my dresses now were made more like 
 a grown lady's. A new white pique dress made for 
 this occasion was in the very latest Raleigh fashion. 
 A basque reaching well below the hips with bell 
 sleeves, an overskirt, almost reaching to the bottom 
 of the skirt, all of which were trimmed in white 
 fringe. I wore a ''follow-me-lads" of cardinal red 
 ribbon fastened around my neck, a small bow in front 
 with the streamers half a yard long tied at the back, 
 and which continually blew in the breeze, so that the 
 lads could not help seeing and following the wearer. 
 I wore a large hat, called a ''sundown" of white straw, 
 trimmed with a wreath of daisies. When I had put 
 the finishing touches on my toilet I felt that I was 
 well dressed, if not pretty; a thing I never could 
 hope to be, but the consciousness of being well dressed 
 
 255 
 
256 i^org^t-me:-nots of the civil war. 
 
 in the latest fashion, and everything to match gave me 
 as much pleasure as if I had been beautiful. 
 
 My mother came in to see how the new outfit looked, 
 and to caution me not to let the sun shine on me and 
 get my face sun burned. ''Now Laura, be careful and 
 don't get sun burned, because your skin is dark enough 
 anyway, and a girl looks so unladylike tanned. Your 
 hat will shade your face some, but I told Victor to be 
 sure and carry an umbrella so you girls could be pro- 
 tected from the sun." 
 
 Looking out of the window, she exclaimed, "Here 
 is Victor now with the girls, calling you." Kissing 
 my mother hurriedly I ran out to the street, when I 
 found the little dump-cart, with my friends ready to 
 pull me up. Vic and Rosa sat in little chairs in front 
 so that he might drive, while Ida and I sat in small 
 chairs back of them. We really were packed in like 
 sardines in a box, but still that made it all the fun- 
 nier for us. The little two wheel cart was drawn by 
 a pretty brown horse that Vic had raised. She was 
 fat as a butter ball, but a good traveler. Rosa and 
 Ida were gorgeous in pink and blue lawns. Vic with 
 a white duck suit and straw hat, gave a rather attract- 
 ive look to our homely little turnout. 
 
 As soon as we started, Rosa said, ''Uncle Jesse is 
 here and wanted us to go with him on his lightning 
 rod wagon, but we wouldn't miss this fun for any- 
 thing." "I told Uncle Jesse how pretty you were, 
 Bettie," she continued to rattle on, above the din of 
 the cart. 
 
 "Uncle Jesse is the funniest thing you ever saw," 
 
THE BAPTIZING AT STAI.I,INGS' MII.I.. 257 
 
 said Ida. Still I only pictured an elderly man. Soon 
 we were well on the way to Stalling's Mill, people were 
 driving in all kinds of vehicles, some few walking. 
 The sun in the meantime had grown hotter, though 
 there was quite a breeze now and then. Remember- 
 ing what my mother had said, that I must take care 
 of my complexion, Ida and I found the umbrellas and 
 brought them forth. Much to our amusement Vic 
 had found two that were worn out, but for the fun 
 of it we hoisted them to let in the sun in streaks. 
 Finally a big flaw of wind turned them inside out, 
 and then our fun increased. We shouted with laugh- 
 ter, and continued to keep the umbrella frames over 
 us. When we were passing other vehicles we sat per- 
 fectly still and never so much as smiled, but out of 
 sight we laughed until the tears ran out of our eyes. 
 
 Hearing a loud rumble and seeing a cloud of dust 
 rising back of us, we dimly discerned the outlines of 
 a strange turnout. "Why, that's Uncle Jesse now on 
 his 'Thunder Pole Wagon,' as he calls it," cried Ida 
 in high glee. *'Yes, look Bettie, he has Ben Yelving- 
 ton and a crowd of the other boys." By this time 
 the horses of the "Thunder Pole Wagon" were at our 
 very back, and looking up and expecting to see a mid- 
 dle aged man, I was astonished to behold a handsome 
 young man, his whole face aglow with mirth and good 
 humor which seemed to radiate on all about him. 
 Catching sight of our would-be umbrella-shades, 
 turned upside down, he simply shouted with laugh- 
 ter, but remembering we were young ladies, and one 
 that he had never met before, he lifted his straw hat 
 
258 FORGEI'-ME-NOTS OF THE: CIVIL WAR. 
 
 and called out, "How dye children ! How are you this 
 morning? You look like you feel pretty salubrious." 
 
 "Your friend and admirer, Ben, is looking to speak 
 to you, Bettie. Why don't you look at him?" asked 
 Rosa. So glancing timidly I saw Ben's smiling face, 
 and bowing to him, I caught another glimpse of 
 "Uncle Jesse," who was trying to get Ben to start 
 up a conversation with me, to give him another chance 
 (I suspect now) to see me better. I chatted on, and 
 felt my face turning crimson, from the gaze of this 
 handsome stranger, or no, was it sunburn? Of course 
 it was sunburn, I told myself. 
 
 "Say, Ida, don't you ladies want to stop at Stalling's 
 well and get a nice cool drink of water?" "Oh, yes, 
 Uncle Jesse, we are dying for a drink," and then she 
 winked and nodded, which he returned. 
 
 "Oh, maybe you want to drive ahead," said Vic, 
 "if you do, go on, we don't care." "Oh, not for any- 
 thing would I drive ahead and get these pretty girls 
 all covered in dust, besides," he added to Ben, "we 
 couldn't see them without getting kinks in our necks.'" 
 
There is a time when life is life indeed. 
 
 When love is love and all about it bright; 
 It is betrothal when great joy has need 
 
 Of sleep to cool the hot heart of delight; 
 Because of you this sweetness came to me, 
 
 And with a chain of flowers my life was led. 
 But after all what may the meaning be? 
 
 Why a betrothal if we may not wed. 
 
 — Guy Roslyn. 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 The Meeting at the Well. 
 
 In a few minutes we had reached the Stallings' home 
 and in the yard near the roadside was a well of water. 
 Stopping the horses, Ben said, "Let me run and draw 
 the water and give the girls some." "Not much," 
 said Uncle Jesse, "I planned that to meet the pretty 
 girl in the cart." So jumping from his high seat, he 
 went to the well and drawing a bucket of water, gave 
 a broken glass full to each of us, as often as he could 
 persuade us to drink. 
 
 "Uncle Jesse" was duly presented to me and began 
 immediately to say nice things; of course I pretended 
 not to notice, but as I looked at him, I saw something 
 in his face that I had never seen before, something that 
 told me that I could love him. He left us and went 
 back to his "Thunder Pole Wagon," and the remain- 
 ing short distance was spent in composing ourselves 
 for the religious exercises. When we reached the 
 pond, we alighted and went down to the water's edge 
 to watch the baptizing. Vic tied his horse and walked 
 down with Rosa. Our umbrella, a thing we now 
 needed, was of no use to us, but "Uncle Jesse" had a 
 brand new one and begged to be allowed to hold it 
 over me, while Ben protected Ida from the sun's fierce 
 
 261 
 
262 ]?orgkt-me:-nots oi^ the: civile war. 
 
 glare. "Miss Bettie, I beg your pardon, Miss Lee, 
 why did you and Ida inconvenience yourselves by rid- 
 ing in that horrible dump cart when Ben told me you 
 had 'dead oodles" of fellows anxious to bring you in 
 some more comfortable buggy or other carriage?" 
 
 "We thought it would be fun and a novelty too, to 
 drive out in a dump-cart and, not to be bothered by the 
 young men, but just have a good time, you see. Not 
 much of an excuse to be uncomfortable," I continued, 
 "but just because we wanted to do it." "I never could 
 live in a town near you and let you do such a thing, 
 Miss Bettie, I mean Miss Lee," he said again. "Don't 
 bother about Miss Lee, just call me Bettie or Laura, 
 or Betsey." "AH right Miss Betsey, may I call on 
 you this afternoon? You know who my people are 
 in Clayton and in the state, so don't treat me like a 
 rank stranger, please ma'am," he pleaded. "Very 
 well, Mr. Mercer, you may call," but just here came 
 the candidates for baptism, and Doctor Harrell with 
 them, and the conversation ended abruptly. 
 
 Dr. Harrell was dressed in a long black robe, bare 
 headed, holding in his hand a stick with which he took 
 the depth of the water every few feet. Following 
 him were forty women and men walking by twos, all 
 singing, "Wash me and I shall be whiter than snow." 
 Whereupon the whole crowd joined in excepting my- 
 self and a few others. "Why don't you sing, Miss 
 Betsey?" said Jesse. "I had throat trouble for years 
 and lost my voice and can't sing." "Come, join 
 in the chorus any way," he urged. 
 
 "No, I beg you not to ever ask me again, because I 
 
the; meeting at the welIv. 263 
 
 am liable to break down and cry if you do," I said. 
 "Not for worlds would I bring a tear to those pretty 
 brown eyes," he replied. 
 
 We hushed again to look upon the water of the old 
 
 mill pond, now bearing on its bosom the precious souls 
 
 that had been freed from sin, by the Doctor dipping 
 
 them down into the water and bringing them up 
 
 ! again and pronouncing the words, "I baptize you, my 
 
 ; sister, in the name of the Father, Son and Holy 
 
 I Ghost, Amen," and then singing a verse of "Whiter 
 
 I Than the Snow." 
 
 I After the forty had been immersed in this Jordan, 
 
 j we sought our carriages and went to the Baptist church 
 j where Doctor Harrell preached a sermon. 
 I "Uncle Jesse" held the umbrella over me every time 
 
 \ he had an opportunity, and I did not object, but rather 
 I liked it. Of course all the nice things he said about my 
 1 beauty I simply took for flattery, and it made no im- 
 pression, except to remind me how homely I was when 
 ; compared with Nealie, and I never believed it, when- 
 ever I was called pretty, for I could see the difference 
 in her beautiful face and my own. 
 
Love, I will tell you what it is to love! 
 
 It is to build with human thoughts a shrine, 
 Where hope sits brooding like a beauteous dove, 
 
 Where Time seems young and life a thing divine. 
 All tastes, all pleasures, all desires combine 
 
 To consecrate this sanctuary of bliss. 
 Above, the stars in cloudless beauty shine; 
 
 Around the streams their flowery margins kiss, 
 And if there's heaven on earth, that heaven is surely this. 
 
 — Chaeles Swain. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI. 
 jKssK Falls in Lovk at First Sight. 
 
 That afternoon I had barely finished dinner when 
 I saw Mr. Mercer coming up the walk. He was just as 
 smiling and happy looking as ever. I had my mother to 
 meet him and she soon left us to ourselves. "I have 
 never seen a girl before that I wanted to make my 
 wife. It is rather a short time to say this to you, but 
 believe me, it is a case of love at first sight. I never 
 believed it before, but. Miss Betsey, I feel like I have 
 known you always and always loved you." 
 
 'T. beg of you not to say those things to me," I ner- 
 vously replied, "I am only a child yet and I hope not 
 near through school, though I doubt whether I can 
 ever go away and leave my mother alone, even to 
 graduate." 
 
 "I know you are a child, and I am just nineteen in 
 November, but since I have seen you I can promise 
 you to work hard and in a short time be able to make 
 you comfortable." 
 
 ''Do you know. Miss Betsey," said he, "that my 
 horses helped me to find you? There is no getting 
 away from it, they brought me to you and luck, that 
 is all the luck I want — to know you and win you, and 
 I'll be happy till I die. Then he told me how they 
 
 265 
 
266 ]Porge:t-me:-nots o^ the: civii. war. 
 
 came to the cross-roads, and the driver asked which 
 road to take and he said *' Xet them take the road they 
 will, and that will be luck,' and here is my luck to 
 know you and to love you. Oh, how I bless the day 
 they brought me here to you. Miss Betsey!" 
 
 ''Oh, don't talk of such things," I replied, "I am too 
 young to listen." 
 
 "I can't help telling you," he replied, "it is now so 
 firmly rooted in my heart and mind that you are to 
 be my wife some day, I can't resist talking about it. 
 Won't you try to love me. Miss Betsey, if I prove my- 
 self worthy? Promise me that you will." I felt then 
 in my secret thoughts, that I not only could love him, 
 but did love him, as I had never dreamed I could love 
 any man. Yet I must carefully guard that secret, 
 for I well knew it would not do to let him know it. 
 He wooed me that Sunday afternoon with so much 
 ardor that I must have let him know in some way that 
 it was not against my own heart to listen to his plead- 
 ings. 
 
 ''Why, Mr. Jesse, you talk this off so glibly to me, 
 I am sure you are accustomed to tell every girl you 
 meet the same thing." 
 
 "I will admit I am fond of girls and often say 
 pretty things to them, but I never have, as I hope to 
 die, said the same things to them that I say to you, 
 and ask you to be my wife. 'Tis true I am in no posi- 
 tion to marry you yet, and some one else who doesn't 
 and can't love you half like I do may marry you. No, 
 I must have you some day for my wife, whether you 
 say 'No' now will make no difference. Later on, 
 I must call you my own." 
 
JFSSE FAI.I.S IN love: at FIRST SIGHT. 267 
 
 I felt myself being drawn irresistibly to this stran- 
 ger, and that he was but speaking from the 
 depths of his heart, but when I remembered that I 
 had been brought up to look upon marriage as a step 
 to be taken, not lightly, nor hurriedly, I knew that I 
 ought not continue to listen to such words from him. 
 
 I had one beau that I had known since childhood 
 days, and I had begun to look upon his visits as tend- 
 ing towards marriage, but he knew I was still in 
 school, and would not dare to offer himself then, still 
 as I thought of Richard Madison then, I knew that 
 I did not love him and only mistook friendship for 
 love. 
 
 "You must give me time to think over all you have 
 said," I ventured to remark. **Very well, I shall be 
 here and in the vicinity for several days, as I find 
 plenty of houses that have no lightning rods. I am 
 doing this work because there is a big profit in it, but 
 every house I put rods on I am cutting out of the busi- 
 ness for future needs, so you see it must be only 
 a stepping stone to another business. I am working 
 now for money to engage in manufacturing later on." 
 
 As he was rising to take his leave, he asked me, 
 "Miss Betsey, may I take you to church tonight?" I 
 had to say "Yes," despite the fact I thought I was 
 being "rushed" a little too much. 
 
 When I told my mother of this, she said, "I am 
 surprised at you, but as you have promised and we 
 know his sister so well, you may go." On the way 
 home he wanted to get back on that subject of the 
 afternoon, but I managed to steer him into another 
 
268 ^orget-me;-nots of the civii. war. 
 
 channel, by talking of his adventures in the lightning 
 rod business. 
 
 When I bade him goodnight at the door, he took 
 my hand and gave it a gentle pressure. 
 
 Monday morning I was on my way to school, and 
 I had to pass the hotel and there, sitting talking to 
 a crowd of young people, was my more than friend. 
 Seeing me, he jumped over the rail of the piazza and 
 said, "Good morning, 'Merry Sunshine,' let me carry 
 your books," and with an air of proprietorship he 
 took my books whether or not and off he went with 
 me to school. On bidding me adieu, at the door, he 
 said, "I am going out in the country for a few days; 
 may I drop in to see you some evening after I get 
 back?" 
 
 "I am sorry, Mr. Jesse, but I never see company 
 during the week. My studies are too hard for that, 
 besides my mother objects." 
 
O Dinna ask me gin I lo'e ye; 
 
 Troth I daunna tell! 
 Dinna ask me gin I lo'e ye, — 
 
 Ask it o' yoursel'. 
 
 -DUNLOP. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII. . \ 
 
 I Am Not Far Be:hind. 
 
 Somehow from then on I could not study without 
 every Httle while thinking of Jesse. I began to won- 
 der if he was saying the same things to the other girls 
 he had said to me. I was in love, I felt sure, and to 
 think I was just sixteen and never would be per- 
 mitted to think about him if my mother knew of it, and 
 I had always been candid with her in regard to my 
 liking for young men. She wouldn't even tolerate 
 a thought of marriage with any of the boys that she 
 knew, much less a stranger. I was glad when the 
 studies were over for the day and when I passed the 
 young people at the hotel, they all began, "Say, Bet- 
 tie, that young lightning rod agent is crazy about you. 
 He had not talked of anything else up to the time he 
 left." 
 
 "That is the truth," said the proprietor, who hap- 
 pened to be on the piazza at the time. 
 
 "He has the worst case of love at first sight I 
 ever saw." 
 
 "Oh, look at her blushing, why I believe you are 
 in love, too!" 
 
 So I heard nothing else but my new beau. 
 
 After I reached home mother said, "Laura, I have 
 
 271 
 
272 FORGET-ME-NOTS OF THE CIVII. WAR. 
 
 been up to Mrs. White's to-day and she was telling 
 me that the young man Mercer, who took you to church 
 last night, was telling the other boys they would bet- 
 ter look to their laurels, for he was going to marry 
 you if you would have him. Now that beats anything 
 I ever heard of! Such children as you both are. 
 Why, he has nothing to marry on and it is ridiculous, 
 and you want at least two more years at school before 
 you graduate." I colored crimson, I am sure, for 
 there came over me a feeling that I didn't care to 
 graduate after all the coaxing I had done to get her 
 to spare the money for that purpose. 
 
 His nieces then came in and began, ''Mrs. Lee, you 
 will certainly lose Bettie now, for 'Uncle Jesse' says 
 he can't live without her." Here I felt my face a 
 blaze of fire again. "Well, he will have to live without 
 her for a while at least." I knew every word of such 
 talk would only make my mother more opposed to 
 him. I tried to shut off the conversation, but in 
 a short time it turned back to the same subject. 
 
 The days seemed interminable, and yet I ought 
 not to want the stranger to return, but I could not 
 help it, and hourly hoped to hear that Jesse had come 
 back to town again. He did not return till vSaturday, 
 and soon after his arrival in town, he called to see 
 me on his way to his sister's. I tried not to show him 
 how glad I was to see him, and yet I am certain he 
 did see it, for he looked more like he was certain of 
 his ground the more he saw of me. 
 
♦ 
 
 1 
 
 Tears, idle tears! I know not what they mean. 
 Tears, from the depth of some divine despair, 
 Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes. 
 In looking on the happy autumn fields, 
 And thinking of the days that are no more. 
 
 — Alfred Tennyson. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 His Departure and My Grief. 
 
 The days flew by until Jesse had done all the work 
 in town and had to bid goodbye to us for he was 
 going to Fayetteville from Clayton, and then into 
 South Carolina. 
 
 "Miss Betsey, I am going to write you," said Jesse, 
 "will you answer my letters ?" 
 
 "I think not, but I will ask my mother and Prof. 
 White, and if they consent, I'll be glad to do so," I 
 answered. 
 
 I asked Prof. White first. I believe there was 
 method in it, for having gotten his consent, I had no 
 trouble in getting my mother's. Professor, when 
 asked, said : "I can see no harm in it, and it will be 
 the means of helping your diction and composition." 
 
 I immediately told my mother that Mr. Mercer 
 wanted me to answer his letters and I had asked Pro- 
 fessor, who seemed to think it might help my composi- 
 tion, etc. 
 
 "Of course, if Professor White thinks it is all 
 right, I will say nothing that will keep you from it, 
 only I think you might learn all that from the Pro- 
 fessor himself without having to correspond with 
 a stranger." 
 
 275 
 
276 i^orge:t-me:-nots o^ the civil war. 
 
 "Well, Miss Betsey, won't you promise to marry 
 me before I leave you?" 
 
 "No I can't make such a promise, for I could not 
 keep it if I did," I replied. 
 
 "Well, remember this, I am coming back to claim 
 you as my wife some day, so farewell and remember 
 I'll always love you. I can't think of anything else 
 but you. I am not fit to attend to my business, but 
 hope when I get away I may be able to buckle on 
 the armour again, and get to work for your sake, dar- 
 ling," and snatching my hand he impressed a burn- 
 ing kiss upon it, and as soon as he had gone I kissed 
 the same spot. 
 
 There were hours of untold misery for me, for I 
 felt this love for him had crowded out all desire for 
 anything else, and yet I knew it would take years to 
 overcome a feeling of prejudice that I saw had filled 
 my mother's mind, due to his being so young, and a 
 stranger too. A letter came in a few days, filled with 
 nothing of his travels or ought else to benefit me, but 
 his love for me, just a heart burdened with love 
 for his child sweetheart, and all he proposed to do for 
 making me his wife very speedily. I had so many 
 questions asked by my mother and Professor about 
 the style of letter that Jesse wrote I had to pretend 
 it was not worth keeping and I had destroyed it. 
 Soon after it another one came that did contain some 
 news item which I took pleasure in regaling to my 
 people. 
 
 He wrote more regularly than was necessary for a 
 correspondence that was not intended to improve my 
 
HIS de:parture: and my QR1%^. 277 
 
 composition and rhetoric, for I answered his letters at 
 intervals, and always avoided the subject of love. 
 
 My mother still discouraged the idea of a regular 
 correspondence with a comparative stranger, and my 
 being only a school girl yet, made each letter I wrote 
 a hard struggle. It did not seem right for me to want 
 to disobey her, and I felt that this young stranger 
 was so much a part of my future happiness that I 
 dared not think of the future without him. As I had 
 always been obedient, I wanted and intended to do 
 as my mother told me, still there was a hungry feel- 
 ing of love for this young man, and a craving to 
 see him again. 
 
 My old friends and beaux continued to pay me 
 steady attention, as if no one had ever broken in 
 upon our serene life, yet I could not even bear the 
 thought of their love for me, or that I ever could have 
 cared for them. Mother had always said I was too 
 young to think about such things, and surely she had 
 been right, as I knew now, and if right in the past, 
 she must be right now. 
 
 I think, however, my mother knew too much about 
 human nature and young girls in particular to set 
 up an opposition to him, and hoped that time and 
 absence, those great healers of so many love lorn 
 maidens, would do more for me than any words she 
 might then say. 
 
 His letters continued to arrive, but I did not hurry 
 in replying, and began trying to gradually drop the 
 correspondence, and go on with my young friends, as 
 though I had never met Jesse Mercer. I was deter- 
 
278 ]^orget-me:-nots o^ the: civii. war. ; 
 
 mined to thoroughly test myself and know whether 
 this feeling for a comparative stranger could be love, 
 or was it a girlish infatuation. My heart only quick- 
 ened at the mention of his name, and a nameless some- 
 thing spoke in every fibre of my being, that I could 
 not love any other man, and if I did not marry him I 
 should never marry any one. In those days a South- 
 ern girl was rarely single at twenty years of age. 
 Many of my friends marrying as early as fourteen, 
 and few later than seventeen. 
 
I 
 
 a 
 
 I do not think where'er thou art, 
 
 Thou hast forgotten me; 
 And I, perhaps, may soothe this heart. 
 
 In thinking, too, of thee; 
 Yet there was round thee such a dawn 
 
 Of light ne'er seen before. 
 As fancy never could have drawn, 
 
 And never can restore! 
 
 — Rev. Chas. Wolfe. 
 
CHAPTER XXIX. 
 Hear Rumor of Engagement to Another Girl. 
 
 Dr. Harrell's family all knew that Jesse was deeply 
 in love with me and that he had asked me to marry 
 him, that we had corresponded and that I was still 
 going to church and parties with young Madison, who 
 seemed to never let me miss anything for the want 
 of an escort, and indeed was a regular visitor at our 
 home. Ida Harrell, knowing this, and wanting to keep 
 her uncle from being discarded, wrote and fully 
 acquainted him with all my movements. Then Jesse 
 not liking to hear such things, determined to give me 
 a little of my own medicine so he wrote and told 
 Ida that he was stopping in a town where he had 
 met a beautiful girl, much like me, especially her eyes, 
 and that she was a lovely musician. 
 
 Whereupon on receipt of his letter, Ida came 
 straight to see me and tell me ''that Uncle Jesse was 
 engaged to a Miss Jennie Stewart, of South Carolina, 
 a perfect beauty, though she has eyes like you. He 
 just raves over her." 
 
 I felt a lump rising in my throat, and it was by an 
 effort of great will power that I controlled myself, so 
 that she might not notice it. 
 
 "I am so glad to hear it, Ida, and hope Miss Jennie 
 
 281 
 
282 forge:t-me:-nots of the civii. war. 
 
 may be as good a wife as she is beautiful, don't forget 
 to congratulate him for me," I replied. 
 
 "Well, Bettie, I am so sorry you went back on 
 Uncle Jesse for he will make somebody a good hus- 
 band, and we all thought he loved you better than 
 anybody else." 
 
 I answered quickly, ''Oh, 'somebody,' as you say, 
 will love me just as well and make me much happier, 
 for I couldn't bear to have him travel and leave me 
 at home, as the lightning rod business demands." 
 
Oh! hadst thou never shared my fate, 
 
 More dark that fate would prove, 
 My heart were truly desolate, 
 
 Without thy soothing love. 
 But thou has suffered for my sake. 
 
 Whilst this relief I found, 
 Like fearless lips that strive to take 
 
 The poison from a wound. 
 My fond affection thou hast seen. 
 
 Then judge of my regret, 
 To think more happy thou hadst been. 
 
 If we had never met! 
 And has that thought been shared hy thee? 
 
 Ah, no! that smiling cheek. 
 Proves more unchanging love for me, 
 
 Than laboured words could speak. 
 
 Thomas Haynes Bayley. 
 
CHAPTER XXX. 
 I Am Ve:ry Unhappy. 
 
 That night I retired early and wept so bitterly at 
 hearing of his love for another girl, that I well nigh 
 made myself sick. Surely now, I knew that my mother 
 was right, and knew more of the ways of young men 
 than I did. After a struggle to give him up or not, 
 for I felt that just a line from me might change all 
 this, I called my pride to my aid and said, "No, never 
 will I drop him another line, unless he makes the 
 overture first. If he can so easily love another girl, 
 after his protestations of undying affection for me 
 in such a short time, I can crush down the feeling I 
 have for him and simply look upon him as one dead, 
 the memory of whom would be as an oasis in my 
 darkest hours.'* 
 
 Ida constantly heard from him and never failed to 
 tell me of his continued stay in this town where Miss 
 Stewart lived. 
 
 I had the happy faculty then of adjusting myself 
 to my surroundings as young people usually do. 
 Sometimes on Sunday afternoons I had as many as 
 fifteen young men to see me at the same time. They 
 were not all suitors by any means, but I seemed to 
 be the kind of a girl who could talk to them all and 
 
286 FORG]^T-ME-NOTS 01^ THEi CIVII, WAR. 
 
 no one seem to be the favorite. Why should I not 
 be able to do that, when the one I dared not now love 
 was still the one that would have been the favorite 
 if, ah, that dreadful "if." 
 
 In the year following my first meeting, when the 
 horses brought to him ''Bess and luck," as he termed 
 it, a large party of twenty young people were invited 
 to visit the State Fair at Wilmington, guests of a 
 house party of one of my friends. Richard Madi- 
 son was there, my gallant chevalier, and was so 
 devoted that his relatives thought we were engaged, 
 and teased us accordingly. I was trying to learn to 
 love him, for he was a bright, promising young scion 
 of a good family, but I never could get the consent 
 of mind to think I loved him well enough to marry 
 him. When I analyzed my feelings there was some- 
 thing that insistently told me not to promise to marry 
 him, as much as he urged; but wait, that Jesse still 
 loved me. He had quit writing, and I never heard 
 where he was or what he was doing, but after our 
 party left for the Fair I was informed by my mother 
 that Jesse Mercer had been in town and was greatly 
 disappointed at finding me away. When I heard that 
 he, my own boy lover had been back to see me, even 
 though I was absent, I felt so happy that I wanted 
 to sing for joy. 
 
 I began to see things in a rosy color again, and 
 down in my innermost soul I felt that all was not 
 over between us two, that he would surely come back. 
 
 In a few weeks this came to pass. Richard Madison 
 had taken me to Liberty Church to hear a revivalist. 
 
I AM VERY UNHAPPY. ' 287 
 
 Instead of listening to the sermon the young people 
 usually sat in the grove and chatted, and ate lunch 
 of fruit or watermelon. The young men sat in the 
 buggies v^ith the girls that they had taken, and if 
 these couples were oftener thinking of what the 
 young men said, than what the preacher had, it is 
 not to be wondered at. While Richard and I were 
 thus occupied, I heard a voice that thrilled me, and 
 on looking up, there stood Jesse Mercer beside me. 
 The same bright, cheerful smile radiating on all 
 around, just as before. Richard, of course, hated 
 him too much to offer his seat beside me, so finally 
 Jesse said, "I just stopped over from train to train 
 and must catch the 1 p. m. express for Charlotte, a 
 pressing business meeting calling me there tomorrow." 
 
 Upon hearing this Richard thought his horse was 
 untied, and stepped to his head to adjust the bridle. 
 Jesse spoke low to me and said: 
 
 "Miss Betsey, promise me not to marry until I see 
 you again." I cheerfully answered, "I have no idea 
 of such a thing and I'll promise." 
 
 He grasped my hand and looked into my eyes and 
 said ''Goodbye." I read a message then in his 
 eyes, that the love that I had thought dead was 
 kindled into a fierce flame. Surely he read the same 
 in my telltale blushes. He left me in body, but in 
 spirit he was near me, waking or sleeping, my boy 
 lover was near me and loved me, not Jennie Stewart. 
 How could I ever have thought he did not love me? 
 Just a word of idle chatter of his niece, who was try- 
 ing to find out if I loved him and if he loved me. I 
 
288 ^org^t-me:-nots o^ the: civil war. 
 
 read it all then, and knew that Ida meant to be a 
 real friend to us both. I was glad to bid Richard 
 goodbye at our gate and run to my room, where I 
 permitted myself to think how much I was beloved 
 and how little I deserved it after months of doubt 
 and jealousy. 
 
 Suddenly I remembered in my happiness my moth- 
 er's unhappiness, if she only knew all this, and then 
 came a feeling of my disobedience to her and regret 
 that it was so, but I would not alter anything, even 
 though my mother would be unhappy. I must love 
 my stranger lover, though the whole world opposed 
 it, for he was no stranger to me, but a part of me, 
 a something so near and dear to me that life itself 
 would not be worth living without him. I pondered 
 deeply on the one thing I had wanted so much to do, 
 to continue my studies till I could graduate, now I 
 thought why I'd make my mother just as miserable 
 by leaving her to go off to school, as if I were leav- 
 ing her to marry the one man in all the world for me. 
 
 I could not concentrate my mind on books, and 
 problems in geometry were not necessary to make 
 my boy lover happy as he often told me. 
 
 A few weeks after Jesse had come and gone again 
 so suddenly, I was down at Nealie's home, for her two 
 little children helped me to put out of my constant 
 thought the being whom I so loved. Nell and Charlie 
 made me forget myself in them whether I wanted to 
 or not. Nealie always so willing to help me, now 
 seemed to need my constant companionship, my mother 
 having told her what she thought of my feelings to- 
 
I AM V^RY UNHAPPY. 289 
 
 wards Jesse. One day at her home a little col- 
 ored boy whom my sister had sent up town on 
 an errand came running at the top of his speed 
 and breathlessly called to me, ''Oh, Miss Bettie, 
 your true lover have came!" Thinking he meant 
 some of my friends from about town, I did not reply, 
 but running up to me, his big eyes bulging, ''Shore 
 now 'fore de Lawd, Miss Bettie, your true lover have 
 came," he insisted. Finally I said in the most indif- 
 ferent manner, "What is the name of 'my true lover,' 
 and where did he 'came' from?" 
 
 "Miss Harrell's brudder that has got de circus 
 wagon." Hearing that much I ran home without 
 waiting to hear anything else. My heart was beating 
 so hard, it seemed to almost burst its bounds. I went 
 to my room, added a few touches to my toilet, but 
 determined to look as much like Jesse had surprised me 
 as possible, if he should drop in to see me. 
 
O, have I lived or have I loved, 
 
 In any years before? 
 For now I cannot dream of joy, 
 
 Save with him evermore. 
 I would and would not, love and fear, 
 
 Make up so large a sum 
 Within my foolish heart today, 
 
 The heart that he has won. 
 O, lavish lights and floating shades, 
 
 I would you were no more; 
 Fly down and haunt the midnight glades. 
 
 And tell me day is o'er. 
 Dear joy, keep my secret safe; 
 
 Like him you cannot guess; 
 That life and love are centered here. 
 
 Where I have written — "Yes." 
 
CHAPTER XXXI. 
 Our Engage:me;nt. 
 
 It was a bright sunny day in March, and our front 
 door stood open. My mother called me and said, ''I 
 have a piece of machine work I want you to do for 
 me, Laura." 
 
 "Very well," I answered, and going into the room 
 where she was preparing the work, I sat down to 
 sew the garment. She was busy at the table basting, 
 and I was running the old "Howe," such a noisy ma- 
 chine that it drowned out every other noise. Finally 
 feeling a presence near me, I looked up, and there 
 stood my boy-lover in the doorway smiling at me. 
 
 That I was greatly embarrassed does not really ex- 
 press my feeling, and I have no idea how I managed 
 to greet him or what I did. 
 
 "Well, Mrs. Lee, you must excuse me for my seem- 
 ing rudeness, I did knock on the front door, so loud 
 I thought I'd wake the 'seven sleepers,' but I heard 
 the noise of the sewing machine and knew you could 
 not hear my knocking, and so took the liberty to walk 
 in the open door." 
 
 He sat down beside me, and we chatted between 
 the pieces of sewing my mother continued to hand 
 over to me. We were sitting talking in one of those 
 
 291 
 
292 i^orget-me:-nots o^ the civii. war. 
 
 intervals, when Jesse took from his pocket a pencil and 
 envelope, for my mother kept her back to us, while 
 basting at the table, and writing a few words handed 
 it back to me. I felt what was coming and read 
 these words, "Will you be my wife ? I must know now, 
 answer 'yes' and make me the happiest man alive." 
 
 I took the pencil and nervously wrote, fearing my 
 mother would turn around and see me thus engaged, 
 "I would say 'yes' if I thought you wanted to hear it." 
 
 Then stealing my hand, he pressed it to his lips. 
 Before I could arrest him from what I saw was com- 
 ing he said: 
 
 ''Mrs. Lee, I have just asked your daughter to be 
 my wife, and she has made me the happiest of men 
 by saying 'Yes.' " 
 
 I saw my mother clutch the table for support, and 
 turning said to me, "Laura, you surely do not mean 
 it?" 
 
 I faltered, "Yes, mother, I do mean it." 
 
 "Why you are too young, and not through school, 
 I cannot think of letting you marry now, and Mr. 
 Mercer is a stranger, too. You have not thought 
 what your promise means," she said. 
 
 "Mrs. Lee, I know that you are right in wishing to 
 see your daughter well settled in life, and my voca- 
 tion now is not to my own thinking as respected as I 
 intend for my future business to be. My trips lately 
 have been to confer with some men in St. Lous, where 
 we have decided to open up a manufacturing chemists 
 laboratory and where we shall manufacture medicines 
 for the medical profession to use. There is a fortune 
 
OUR e:ngage:me;nt. 293 
 
 in it, I am convinced, I have some money I have 
 saved from the business I am now engaged in, and I 
 have arranged to form a company and begin Hfe in a 
 live western city, where we will be centrally located for 
 supplying the United States." 
 
 ''Then you will make St. Louis your home," mur- 
 mured my mother. 
 
 "Yes, that is my intention, our family have never 
 recuperated since losing the negroes, and I am not 
 willing to drag along for years eking out a bare exist- 
 ence, when I can make a fortune by going West." 
 
 Turning to me, my mother said sadly, "Child, do 
 you realize what this means, leaving your family and 
 friends and going among a wild people, living, almost, 
 I hear, on the frontier, with Indians almost at their 
 door? Mr. Mercer, she is my baby, and has always 
 been the pet of the whole family, it is true she has 
 never disobeyed me in any matter that she was re- 
 quested to do, and I have tried to keep from imposing 
 anything unreasonable on her. Now you have put 
 me to the test to give her, my baby, into your keeping, 
 without knowing much of your character, disposition, 
 etc. Not only do you ask for her to be given to you, 
 but you tell me that you will take her to a far away 
 home, where possibly we may seldom, if ever, see 
 each other again." 
 
 I loved my mother more dearly for every word she 
 said. I knew her inmost feelings were love for me. 
 
 I was trembling with suppressed emotion, my love 
 for my mother in the scale with the love for my boy- 
 lover, my hero, my life. I could not leave the room, 
 
294 ^orge:t-me-nots o^ the: civii, war. 
 
 much as I wanted to, for I felt that all my happiness 
 was at stake, and I must hear every word for and 
 against the match. 
 
 Jesse's eyes filled with tears, as he said, "I love 
 your daughter, and have loved her from the first 
 moment of meeting her, better than everything this 
 world contains. Since meeting her I have tried to 
 delude myself into the belief that it was a boyish 
 infatuation for a pretty girl, but no, my heart goes 
 out to her with every fibre of my being, and I can't 
 give her up. She loves me, and has always loved me, 
 she has tried to drown it with thoughts of others, 
 but she can't any more do that than I can turn the * 
 current of my love for her into another channel. We 
 were made for each other, and I am determined to 
 win her, if it takes years to prove my loyalty to her." 
 
 Mother had sat down at the beginning of the conver- 
 sation, and now and then she would so fill up with 
 tears that she could not talk. I sat like a little criminal 
 awaiting the verdict. Finally my mother said: 
 
 "Mr. Mercer, will you give me till tomorrow to 
 think and talk over what is right and proper to do? 
 I live for my children, she is my baby, the only un- 
 married one, and feels nearer than the other 
 children who are away. I want to do what will 
 make her permanently happy. If you think she is so 
 much in love with you I want to find it out, for, so 
 far, I had thought she was fascinated for the moment, 
 and after your visit to South Carolina had gotten over 
 it entirely. 
 
 "There is another thing, Laura has no musical tal- 
 ent, can't even carry a tune that any one knows. Now, 
 
OUR engageme;nt. 295 
 
 much of your happy home Hfe will be in having a 
 congenial wife, one who enters into all your tastes, 
 nothing makes home life unhappier than uncongenial- 
 ity. Think well, Mr. Mercer, what you are doing, 
 every young man who falls in love thinks he wants 
 a wife until he gets one, and then he finds out he 
 needs everything else but a wife." 
 
 Jesse arose to leave and said, ''Mrs. Lee, the girls 
 want me to bring Miss Betsey down to the house to- 
 night, we are going to have some music, may I come 
 up and take her to sister Ann's?" 
 
 ''Certainly," my mother said, "I would not for one 
 moment debar her from an evening's enjoyment." 
 
 After he left mother asked me many questions, why 
 I had not told her that I loved Jesse. 
 
 "I felt, mother, that you would never approve it, 
 and I could no more help loving him than I could 
 help breathing," I said. 
 
 "Well, I will go down to see your sister Cornelia 
 and Ashley tonight and talk over the matter with 
 them," mother said. 
 
 I went to her and stroking her pretty wavy hair, 
 now so streaked with grey, said, "Mother, I love you 
 even more than I ever did, and don't want to disobey 
 you, so please don't make it too hard for me." 
 
 She kissed me and said, "I am only thinking of 
 your future happiness." 
 
 That night I dressed in my most becoming dress, 
 a white dotted swiss with pink ribbon bows and 
 sash, and when Jesse came for me, he said, "Miss 
 Betsey, you look sweet enough to eat." 
 
296 i^orget-me:-nots of the civil war. 
 
 We went to the party at sister Ann's, and such a 
 good time we all had, that when time came to go 
 home I had forgotten that my happiness had been 
 weighed in the balance all the evening and might be 
 found v^anting tomorrow. Jesse could play the banjo 
 a little better than anybody I had ever heard before, 
 the old fashioned negro melodies and rag time, long 
 before rag time came into fashion. 
 
Which this railway smash reminds me in an underhanded 
 
 way, 
 Of a lightning-rod dispenser that came down on me one day. 
 My wife — she liked the stranger, smilin' on him warm and 
 
 sweet; 
 (It al'ays flatters women when their guests are on the eat!) 
 And he hinted that some ladies never lose their youthful 
 
 charm. 
 And caressed her yearlin' baby, and received it in his arms. 
 My sons and daughters liked him — for he had progressive 
 
 views, 
 And he chewed the cud o' fancy, and gi'n down the latest 
 
 news; 
 And I couldn't help but like him — as I fear I al'ays must. 
 The gold of my own doctrines in a fellow-heap o' dust, 
 
 — Will Cableton. 
 
CHAPTER XXXII. 
 On]^ Ev^ning^s Ent^rtainm:^nt. 
 
 The Clayton string band was ushered in soon after 
 we arrived at Mrs. Harrell's home. The young men 
 who composed it, were from the finest old families in 
 the county. The McCullers brothers, five in num- 
 ber, were among the aristocrats of Clayton, and con- 
 sidered with the Poole boys to be the best musicians 
 in the state for amateurs. 
 
 Delino McCullers and William were first violinists, 
 and their touch was so sweet that they could always 
 awaken the most responsive chords in the hearts of 
 their hearers. 
 
 Edgar and Donas played second violin and the violin 
 cello in such a masterful way that the low notes re- 
 echoed even more melody than the first violinists could 
 evoke. 
 
 Herbert McCullers, one of the handsomest of the 
 brothers, as well as one of the best musicians, usually 
 played the guitar, even as a Spanish Cavalier might 
 do in sunny Spain. 
 
 Then came Coy Poole and his brothers, Quentin and 
 Nathan, who seemed to be able to play on any instru- 
 ment, and in the most pleasing style. It was like a 
 pleasant dream to be awakened in the middle of the 
 
 299 
 
300 FORGET-ME-NOTS OF THE CiVIIv WAR. 
 
 night and listen to a serenade from these young 
 geniuses who played as professionals might have 
 envied. 
 
 Still, on this particular evening their talents did not 
 shine out as formerly, for Jesse, himself a lover of 
 music from the most classical to rag time, could play 
 with such a dash and with his whole soul, that even 
 the banjo played by him seemed like a wonderful 
 instrument in his hands, while the piano seemed at- 
 tuned to higher bursts of melody than ever before 
 under his touch. Nature had been no niggard with 
 him when she committed all these talents to his keep- 
 ing, for his beautiful tenor voice would have been 
 a generous and gracious gift to any person, yet he 
 was capable of getting and giving more pleasure with 
 all these gifts than any other artist I ever knew. 
 
 We made merry till late. Among the other accom- 
 plishments that he developed that evening was the 
 telling of stories that were so original, that I 
 have never forgotten them; indeed no good wife 
 should ever forget her husband's stories. One of 
 these will do more to show the reader the kind of 
 material this young man was made of than any words 
 I might say about him, perhaps in the dark days 
 that came to us, there arose in my mind the picture 
 of the young lightning rod expert as he planned and 
 sold Mr. Stewart the much abused lightning rods. I 
 foresaw his determination to win me as he won the 
 bet. I shall tell these stories in the very words he 
 told them. 
 
ONE evening's entertainment. 301 
 
 The Clock Story. 
 
 In Robeson County, near Lumberton, North Caro- 
 lina, a little town in the eastern part of the state, there 
 are at least a dozen families of Scotch descent, some 
 of them live in the little town, some of them live on 
 farms a mile or two from town. All of these people 
 are very thrifty, they work hard and save their money, 
 and all of them have money in the bank. 
 
 Along in 1871 and 1872 a clock company was work- 
 ing through this section of the state. The salesmen 
 of the company were reaping a harvest, selling a clock 
 with a pretty case. The clock was also what is called 
 a calendar clock; that is, it would tell the day of the 
 month. These clocks were sold at thirty-nine dollars 
 apiece. The company selling these clocks was very 
 accommodating, and the salesmen were instructed that 
 whenever they found a man who owned his home 
 and wanted a clock, they, the salesmen, were to sell 
 it for cash if he could get the cash, but if the cash 
 was short, the clock must be sold on credit, and a 
 note must be taken, giving from one month to one 
 year's time to pay for same. 
 
 The salesmen were all young men, full of fun and 
 frolic, but very good workers. There was a great 
 rivalry between the salesmen as to which one could 
 sell the greatest number of clocks. When nearly 
 everybody in the neighborhood had secured a clock 
 and the company was getting ready to move over into 
 another county, all the salesmen met at this little town 
 of Lumberton to turn over to the superintendent all 
 
302 forge:t-me:-nots o^ the: civiIv war. 
 
 the cash that they could spare, reserving only enough 
 to pay current expenses. Also to turn over the notes 
 taken for the clocks that they had sold on credit. 
 This was the business part of the meeting, but the 
 meeting meant a great deal more to these young fel- 
 lows, for each and every one was delighted to get to 
 a town. The size of the town mattered little to them, 
 only the bigger the town the better they liked it. 
 
 At these meetings every one had some experience 
 to relate in connection with their trips through the 
 county. Each one would brag on the number of 
 clocks that he had sold, and relate some little partic- 
 ular incident about how he would overcome the diffi- 
 culties, as well as the scruples of his customers, and 
 told how he sold the clock to his man, whether the 
 man wanted a clock or not. In fact each one would 
 feel as if he had sustained a personal injury if he 
 failed to sell a clock to every man that he went to 
 see. So it got to be a sort of a disgrace for a man 
 to come and report that he had been baffled in a 
 single instance and had failed to sell his clock to his 
 man. 
 
 At this meeting the stories had come thick and fast, 
 nearly all telling of success, and not a single instance 
 had as yet been related where failure must be recorded, 
 till Billy Colver, spoke up and said: 
 
 ''Well, boys, I am not going to be as big a liar as 
 some of you, I am going to tell the truth. There 
 is a man living out on the Shoeheel road that I spent 
 a half day with, I thought three or four times that 
 I had sold him a clock, but when I got ready to close 
 
one: ^ve^ning's e:nte:rtainment. 303 
 
 the deal my man would back out, so I have to report 
 this one failure, and I want to add that my man told 
 me I was the fourth man who had been to see him 
 during the week, so there are three more of you fel- 
 lows who could report at least this one failure if you 
 only had the backbone to do it." 
 
 Another salesman said, "I confess I am one of the 
 other three who failed in this case." 
 
 So the other two not to be outdone in candor, also 
 confessed their inability to sell this particular man. 
 
 The first speaker, Mr. Colver, said, "boys, this will 
 never do, we must not let such a story as this go back 
 to headquarters. This Mr. McClean must buy a 
 clock, but the question is, how can it be done?" 
 
 After much talk it was agreed that Tim Rowland, 
 the youngest and handsomest of all the salesmen, 
 should go and sell a clock to Mr. McClean. Tim had 
 a great reputation as a salesman, and he had sold 
 clocks to almost every man that he had visited. Tim 
 did not like the idea of going to see Mr. McClean after 
 four other salesmen had failed, for he said that a 
 stubborn man, after once refusing to buy, would be 
 much more obstinate than before he was approached. 
 
 He wanted to know if Mr. McClean was married. 
 One of the boys spoke up and said that Mr. McClean 
 had a very sweet, mild-mannered little wife, but she 
 was so modest and retiring that he did not remember 
 to have heard her say one word while he was at Mr. 
 McClean's house. 
 
 Tim said if he could only go to the house and find 
 Mr. McClean absent he was almost sure that he could 
 
304 ^orge:t-me-nots of the: civil war. 
 
 sell Mrs. McClean a clock. The next morning, early, 
 one of the salesmen went to Tim's room and said, 
 "Now is your time to sell the clock to Mrs. McClean, 
 Tim, for I just saw Mr. McClean over on the Court 
 House square." 
 
 So Tim hurried through his breakfast and started 
 off on his wagon, which was loaded with clocks, for 
 Mr. McClean's house to try to sell a clock to his 
 wife. He drove out of his way to approach Mr. 
 McClean's house from the opposite direction, so that 
 when he arrived at the house his horse would be 
 headed towards Lumberton. 
 
 In an hour or two he found himself in the road in 
 front of Mr. McClean's house. He walked boldly in 
 and knocked on the front door. He stood a little while, 
 and receiving no response, he knocked again, a little 
 louder than before, still receiving no response he 
 knocked again, louder still. 
 
 This time he heard some movement inside the 
 house, and waited patiently for an answer to his 
 knock. At last a young woman made her appear- 
 ance. She had her sleeves rolled up above her elbows 
 and she was rolling them down to hide her naked 
 arms. She had on a sunbonnet, which completely hid 
 her face, except in front, and a skirt to the bonnet 
 covered her neck and part of her shoulders. As soon 
 as he could, Tim spoke in his sweetest tones. 
 
 He pulled off his hat and kept it in his hand while 
 he talked. He said, ''Good morning. Madam, is Mr. 
 McClean at home? I am very sorry for I am in 
 trouble and I was going to ask a favor of Mr. McClean. 
 
one: evening's entertainment. 305 
 
 You see my wagon is broken down and I must leave 
 my load of boxes somewhere, so I can go to town with 
 my empty wagon to get it mended. Do you think 
 Mr. McClean would object if I would put my boxes 
 under the porch or in the barn, any where, so they 
 could keep dry? O! thank you, you are so kind. 
 What a beautiful place you have! I think the out- 
 look from this porch is one of the most beautiful that 
 I ever saw. That landscape is pretty enough to make 
 an artist want to live and die right in sight of so 
 much beauty. O! if I only had such a home and a 
 pretty little girl I saw about ten miles from here, for 
 my wife, I would be the happiest mortal on the earth. 
 What is her name, did you ask? Oh, such a sweet 
 name; I expect you know her so I must not tell you 
 her name. I have only seen her once, but I fell in 
 love at first sight. O, I tell you she is the most beau- 
 tiful being I ever saw, such lovely eyes, and the sweet- 
 est mouth. Why if I had a wife with a mouth like 
 that, I would spend about half of my time kissing 
 her. Her hair, Oh, you just ought to see that hair, 
 that hair was as fine as silk. She tried to tie it up 
 on the back of her head, but the hair would not stand 
 for such treatment, so it just broke out and was 
 hanging all around her beautiful neck. Color, why 
 I can't exactly tell, sometimes I thought it was black, 
 when she would sit in the shadow, but as soon as she 
 would come out where the light would fall on it, it 
 would look like it was on fire, there was so much red 
 in it. When I got real close to her it did not look red, 
 it was brown. So I guess I must call it a reddish 
 
306 I^ORGET-ME-NOTS O^ THE CIVIL WAR. 
 
 brown. You say you know her, now look here, is she 
 some of your kin folks? She looks enough like you 
 to be your sister. Pardon me, pardon me, for keep- 
 ing you so long. You really reminded me so much 
 of Miss Mary ! There, I have *let the cat out of the 
 bagM Well what difference does it make, I know 
 you will not tell on me. You will be my friend, 
 won't you ? I am going to work hard and I will marry 
 Mary some day, if she will have me." 
 
 Then Tim went out to his wagon and commenced 
 bringing his boxes in and putting them on the porch. 
 When he had nearly all of the boxes in, he looked at 
 Mrs. McClean. She was standing there smiling and 
 watching every movement. Tim looked up with a 
 smile on his face and asked, "Will you please tell me 
 what time it is? What! Have no clock? Why, that 
 is the worst I ever heard of, to live away out in the 
 country and have no clock. Why, just to think that 
 every one of those boxes has a clock in it. I will just 
 put one on your mantel to keep you company v^hile 
 I am gone to town. What do you say, your husband 
 will be angry? He don't want a clock? Four clock 
 men been here ? Then he would not buy, that is funny. 
 He said that if a clock man came here while he was 
 gone you must slam the door in his face? Why, 
 what sort of a man is he? Has he a watch? Yes, 
 well you see he don't need a clock himself, he has a 
 watch. He is away in the field plowing, he looks at 
 his watch, it is dinner time. He comes on home to 
 dinner, you have no watch, no clock, you don't know 
 the time, and dinner is not quite ready. He is impa- 
 
ON^ e:v^ning's ^nte^rtainment. 307 
 
 tient; you say, 'I would have had your dinner ready, 
 I have no clock, I did not know it was dinner time.' 
 What, you say this has happened many times? Now 
 that is too bad. Look here, I tell you what I will do, 
 I want to sell you this clock." Tim had put the clock 
 on the mantel and started it to work. It only lacked 
 a few minutes to twelve o'clock. As Tim was talk- 
 ing the clock struck twelve. Tim said, ''Now, that 
 is what I call real music, ain't that the sweetest gong 
 you ever heard? Look at that clock, it is a thing of 
 beauty and a joy forever. I don't know anything any- 
 body can put in a home that will give it so much pleas- 
 ure as a clock ! There it stands to speak to you every 
 time you look at it, and it tells you something that 
 you want to know every time it speaks, and the beauty 
 is that it never talks back to you. It never gets im- 
 patient. It is always in a good humor, and it helps 
 the other members of the family to keep in a good 
 humor, too. All during the night, in sickness or in 
 health, there it stands with open face and a kind 
 look, to remind you of all your duties. It tells 
 you when to go to bed, it tells you when to get 
 up, it tells when it is time to get breakfast, dinner 
 and supper; it tells you when to take the next dose 
 of medicine, it tells you when to go to church. 
 In the weary hours of the long winter nights you 
 wake up and lay there hour after hour and wonder 
 what time it is.* There the clock stands to mark 
 off for you the hours as they pass. Now I will tell 
 you what I will do, I am going to make you a proposi- 
 tion that any sensible person would accept, and I know 
 
308 forge:t-mi:-nots oi^ the: civil war. 
 
 that you are a sensible person. Now I will sell you 
 that clock at your own price and will take anything 
 you have to sell at your own price, could any proposi- 
 tion be made more attractive than that; now what do 
 you say?" 
 
 There was absolute silence for about five minutes. 
 Mrs. McClean was smiling, with a puzzled look on 
 her face, as if she was trying to comprehend what 
 had been said to her. 
 
 At last she said simply, ''I will accept your proposi- 
 tion. Come down here to this pen and I will show 
 you something." She took Tim out in the corner of 
 the yard where there was a small pen. On the floor 
 of the pen, was a very poor sick looking calf. Mrs. 
 McClean said, ''I will let you have that calf for five 
 dollars." She then took Tim out to the barn, and 
 said "There is a barrel with some flax seed in it, I 
 will let you have the barrel and the seed for three 
 dollars. Now come to the house and we will finish 
 our trading." When she got to the house she motioned 
 Tim to be seated, and went off in another room, and 
 soon returned with two silver dollars in her hand. 
 She handed them to Tim and said, ''You said I could 
 have the clock at my own price. Well, Til give you 
 ten dollars for the clock. You said you would take 
 anything I had to sell at my own price in pay for the 
 clock. So I give you the calf at five dollars, the flax 
 seed at three dollars, this makes eight dollars and the 
 two dollars I give you makes the ten dollars, and I 
 hope it will satisfy you for I have nothing else to sell." 
 
 Tim assured her that he was perfectly satisfied, and 
 
ONE e:ve:ning's e:ntertainme:nt. 309 
 
 said further, that he wished to beg her pardon for 
 having used a subterfuge to get an audience. He said 
 he had come from town especially to sell her the clock, 
 and now that she had bought one if she would only 
 forgive him for telling her a story about his wagon 
 being broken down he would get his calf, his seed 
 and the balance of his clocks, and with heartfelt thanks 
 for her kindness he would bid her good day. Say- 
 ing also that if he got along well with the beautiful 
 Mary, that he had mentioned, that he hoped to see 
 her again some day. 
 
 Putting all his things together, he was soon on his 
 wagon and on his way back to town. Tim was won- 
 dering what his friends would say about his selling a 
 $39.00 clock for $10.00. Then he remembered that 
 Mrs. McClean said the calf's mother was a fine milk 
 cow, so he said, I may get a good price for the calf. 
 Then his mind took in the flax seed. Well, "by 
 George," I will sell them too. So when he got to 
 town he had all his plans made. He went to the 
 Court House and asked the sheriff if he could sell some 
 flax seed and a fine Jersey calf. The sheriff readily 
 gave his permission. So Tim loafed around till Court 
 adjourned for the day, and as he saw the people 
 come out of the Court House, he mounted his wagon 
 and commenced hollowing at the top of his voice, "Oh, 
 yes, O! ye-s, O, yes, come this way! come this way! 
 Now gentlemen, I want to offer you something that 
 they tell me will bring you the most prolific crop and 
 make you more money than anything that you can 
 cultivate, will make you more money than anything 
 
310 I^ORGET-ME^-NOTS O^ THE) CIVII, WAR. 
 
 you can plant in this country. I am telling you that 
 this thing that I am going to offer you will grow as 
 fast and do as well in this country as it will in any 
 country. If this is true what a wonderful country 
 this will be in a few years! Why, you will be so 
 rich you will not have to work any more, you will 
 have nothing to do but live on the interest of your 
 money. Now, gentlemen, you have heard of the Nor- 
 way flax, the most wonderful flax in the world. This 
 flax is as fine as silk and grows as high as your 
 head. I am told that it will yield one hundred per cent, 
 every year, just think of it, one hundred per cent, per 
 year! Now I have only a very limited quantity of 
 this flax seed ; it is so scarce I will have to charge you 
 one dollar for a large spoonful. Now who will take 
 a spoonful at one dollar? You? Thank you; and 
 you? thank you;" and so Tim went on till he had 
 sold fifty-five spoonfuls. When he saw his crowd 
 leaving Tim said, "now, gentlemen, I had flax seed for 
 many of you, but I have sold it all. Now I have one 
 more thing to sell. This one thing only one man 
 can get, and the man who gets this one thing, that I 
 now offer you, in a year or so will be the proudest 
 man in this country. Now I offer you this imported 
 Jersey calf. This is the finest stock ever brought to 
 the United States from the Island of Jersey. This is 
 a cow calf and came from the biggest and best milk- 
 ing family of cows ever owned on earth. Why, gen- 
 tlemen, I am told that the mother of this calf gave five 
 gallons of milk a day. That the father of this calf 
 gave five gallons of milk a day, that the grandmother 
 
ONE evening's entertainment. 311 
 
 of this calf gave five gallons of milk a day, and the 
 grandfather gave five gallons of milk a day. Now, 
 how much am I offered? $10.00, $15.00, $20.00, 
 $30.00, $35.00, $40.00, $45.00, $50.00, $50.00, $50.00, 
 going at $50.00, can't you give me $5.00 more? 
 $50.00, $50.00, $50.00, make it five, $55.00. Now, 
 gentlemen, don't lose this bargain. I am going to sell, 
 going, going, once going, $55.00, $55.00, $55.00, 
 $55.00, going twice, going, going, last call, are you 
 all done, $55.00, third and last call, and sold to that 
 gentleman over there at $55.00. Now, gentlemen, 
 accept my thanks for your kindness." After getting 
 his money Tim drove off. 
 
 The scene shifts and goes back to the McClean farm. 
 Mrs. McClean was greatly pleased that she had suc- 
 ceeded in buying a clock, and was more than pleased 
 that she could pay for it with the calf that Mr. McClean 
 was so anxious to get rid of, in fact had said that if 
 the calf lived another day that he intended to kill it 
 He also spoke of the flax seed, saying that they were 
 worm eaten and were worthless, and he intended to 
 throw them away. So she had only paid out two dol- 
 lars in real money, and she just considered that she 
 got the beautiful clock for two dollars. But there was 
 a sting in the whole transaction, and this made her a 
 little sad. The thing that worried her was the fact 
 that if a clock man came to his house while he was 
 away, she was to slam the door in his face and go on 
 about her business. 
 
 What could she say when her husband came home? 
 So she must have thought of something to say or to 
 
312 FORGET-ME-NOTS OF THE Civile WAR. 
 
 do, for she went hurriedly out to the barn and got 
 some corn in a bucket, came back in the yard and 
 commenced to call the chickens. She shelled the corn 
 and threw it to the chickens. She dropped the corn 
 nearer and nearer to herself till she was dropping the 
 corn right at her feet. The chickens crowded around 
 her closer and closer. She looked them over well, 
 and reached down and picked up a nice half grown 
 young rooster, there was one squawk and a little 
 whirl of the arm and the chicken was fluttering on 
 the ground with its head off. In a little while she 
 was on her way to the house with the chicken. She 
 cleaned it, cut it up and put it aside, after sprinkling 
 it over with salt She got out her flour and made 
 some biscuits, she got out some potatoes and cleaned 
 them, she got out some rice, washed it, shook up her 
 fire in the cooking stove and started cooking supper. 
 She would stop her work once in a while and go in 
 and look at her clock. John would be coming along 
 soon. So she sat and watched down the road. She 
 got her table set and put a clean table cloth on. She 
 made the table look as nice as if she was looking for 
 company. She got out some preserved peaches and 
 made some pie crust out of her biscuit dough, putting 
 in a little butter to make it short and crisp. 
 
 Everything was now ready. It commenced to turn 
 dark. She lighted her lamps, sat down and waited; 
 at last she heard the rattle of chains and the snap 
 of the wagon wheels, the patter of horses' feet. She 
 knew John was coming, maybe it was some other 
 farmer on his way home from the town. What could 
 
one: i^vening's dnte^rtainment. 313 
 
 keep John so late? Yes, it was John, he had turned 
 in and gone down towards the barn. She thought 
 that it took him a long time to get through with his 
 horses. She went in and took another look at the 
 clock, then went over the bureau and looked at herself 
 in the glass. She thought she looked a little paler 
 than usual. She smoothed her hair and went back to 
 the kitchen. Yes, there was John coming at last. 
 What would he say? John came on in, walked over 
 to a shelf where there was a bucket of water, a wash 
 basin and a fresh towel hanging on the rack. He 
 washed his hands. 
 
 His wife was watching him; as soon as she saw 
 him giving his hands the finishing touches with the 
 towel, she said in her sweetest tones, "Come right in 
 John, I know you must be tired, and I have a nice 
 warm supper for you. Here is some nice fried 
 chicken that I know you love, and some nice hot bis- 
 cuit that ought to be mighty good, because I put 
 some good work on them." 
 
 John threw up his head and took a good look at his 
 wife. He was wondering what made his wife so nice 
 and pleasant tonight. She rambled on asking him 
 about the town, asking about the news, handing him 
 more chicken, more biscuits, more coffee. She kept 
 him busy. All of a sudden there was the clock strik- 
 ing in the other room. John asked "What is that?" 
 The wife said "go on, John, and finish your supper 
 and I will tell you all about it." John with his brows 
 knit with a fierce look in his face, said "all about 
 what?" 
 
314 FORGET-ME-NOTS 01^ THE CIVIL WAR. 
 
 ''Go on John and finish your supper and I will tell 
 you all about it. Go on John, now please finish your 
 supper and don't get mad about it. It is nothing to 
 get mad about. Now please go on and finish your 
 supper." 
 
 John said, ''what did I tell you? Didn't I tell you 
 if any clock man came here while I was gone that 
 you must slam the door in his face and go on about 
 your business?" "Now, John." "Didn't I tell you 
 that? Now you have gone and disobeyed me, is that 
 the way for a wife to treat her husband?" 
 
 "Now, please, John," said the wife in pleading 
 tones. But John could see only one side and kept on. 
 At last there came a gray look around the wife's 
 mouth, the face turned a little paler, she was trying 
 to swallow something. She got up out of her chair 
 and said, "yes, you miserable wretch, you don't de- 
 serve even the little consideration that I have for you. 
 You talk to me about disobedience ! Why, you stingy 
 cuss, I have been your obedient slave. Here I have 
 cooked all your meals for two years, I have mended all 
 your old ragged clothes for two years, fed your chick- 
 ens, milked your cows, fed your hogs, you miserable 
 man you ! I get up early and go to bed 
 late to get through the work that you should 
 hire somebody to help do. Talk to me about 
 obedience! You don't know how to treat a 
 decent woman. You are too stingy. You go 
 off to the field with your watch in your pocket, 
 when you feel a little hungry you look at your watch 
 and say, 'Yes, it is dinner time, I will go home to 
 
ONE evening's entertainment. 315 
 
 dinner!' Here I am with no watch, no clock, don't 
 know what time it is, and must guess the time to 
 get my dinner; you come home, dinner is a few min- 
 utes late, you want to know what is the matter with 
 the dinner. There is nothing the matter with the 
 dinner, the matter is with you, you miserable stingy 
 thing you. That's what is the matter I can tell you, and 
 I can tell you something else ; I can tell you that you can 
 get somebody else to cook for you, for I will not 
 live with a man so mean and stingy. You remember 
 you said you intended to kill that sick calf. Well, I 
 sold that calf for five dollars. Do you remember that 
 barrel of worm eaten flax seed, that you were going 
 to throw away ? I sold it for three dollars and I took 
 the last money I had on earth and gave it with the 
 calf and the flax seed for the clock. You knew that 
 I wanted a clock, and you were too stingy to buy one 
 for me, and I am now done with you. Tomorrow I 
 will go home to my mother." 
 
 About this time John was laughing so he could 
 hardly stand up. The wife said ''What are you laugh- 
 ing at? I don't see anything to laugh at." John put 
 his hand in his pocket and brought out a package 
 wrapped in a piece of newspaper. He said, ''My dear 
 wife, you are the smartest wife in the world! I am 
 the darn fool. Here is a package of the same flax 
 seed and I paid one dollar for it. I have the calf 
 down yonder in my wagon, and I paid fifty-five dollars 
 for the measly thing." 
 
316 i^orge:t-me;-nots of the: civii, war. 
 
 Mr. P£:e:l's Curiosity. 
 
 Down in Eastern North Carolina there is a railroad 
 from Weldon to Wilmington, a part now of the Atlan- 
 tic Coast Line. This road passes through many little 
 towns. Among others, there is a little town down 
 near Wilmington called Burgaw. It is not much 
 of a town. It has one store, one church, one 
 blacksmith shop, one turpentine distillery, one cotton 
 gin, one saw mill, one boarding house, which the 
 owner calls a hotel. The proprietor of this hotel is 
 a very unique character. He has the reputation of 
 having more curiosity than any man in the whole 
 state. It has been said about him that when a stranger 
 came to town Mr. Peel (for this was his name), would 
 quit his business and follow him around and listen 
 to everything that he would say, so that he could guess, 
 by what he heard, who the stranger was, what was 
 his name, where he came from, how long he intended 
 to stay, and where he was going when he left. 
 
 One day a smart looking stranger got off the train 
 and went over to Mr. Peel's hotel. At once Mr. Peel 
 got interested and would hardly leave the stranger 
 long enough to attend to any business. The stranger 
 started on a stroll, so Mr. Peel started along behind. 
 When the stranger would meet some one and stop to 
 ask some questions, Mr. Peel would draw near, and 
 stand by with his ears wide open listening, trying to 
 catch something that would give him the information 
 that he was almost dying to know. 
 
 The first man the stranger met was a countryman 
 
one: e:vening's entertainment. 317 
 
 with a little bull cart, with one barrel on it. The 
 stranger stopped and asked the countryman, ''What 
 have you got in your barrel?" "Turpentine." 
 
 "What are you going to do with it?" 
 
 "Going to sell it to the 'stillery." 
 
 "What's he going to do with it?" 
 
 "Going to bile it I s'pose." 
 
 "What does he bile it for?" 
 
 "To get the sperits out'n it." 
 
 "What's he going to do with the sperits?" 
 
 "Damfino." 
 
 "What's left when he gets the sperits out?'* 
 
 "Rosum." 
 
 "What do they do with rosum?" 
 
 "Sell it to the Yankees, I guess." 
 
 Mr. Peel was standing near, listening to all this 
 talk, but could get nothing out of it at all to satisfy 
 him. 
 
 The stranger went on to the blacksmith shop and 
 stopped and asked the blacksmith (who was shoeing 
 a horse) : 
 
 "How many nails do you put in each shoe?" 
 
 "Sometimes six, sometimes eight," said the black- 
 smith. 
 
 "Do horses go to bed with their shoes on?" 
 
 "I guess so." 
 
 "Do horses have corns on their feet like folks?" 
 
 "Yes, they do." 
 
 Mr. Peel was standing near with a troubled look 
 on his face, for he could make out nothing from all 
 this talk. 
 
318 ^orget-me:-nots 0I^ the: civil war. 
 
 The stranger went on further, and met a nice look- 
 ing man with a white neck tie and a double breasted 
 Prince Albert coat. The stranger stopped and asked: 
 
 "Are you the preacher of this town?" 
 
 "Yes sir." 
 
 "Do you believe in eternal punishment?" 
 
 "The Scripture clearly teaches it." 
 
 "Do you believe in infant damnation?" 
 
 "Well, I don't know about that." 
 
 "Do you believe in the atonement?" 
 
 "Well, the Scripture clearly teaches that." 
 
 Mr. Peel was standing near, taking all this con- 
 versation in, but could make nothing of it. 
 
 The stranger went on back to the hotel. He sat 
 down and Mr. Peel came in and sat down near him, 
 looking at the stranger in such a longing way. Both 
 sat quite still for some time. At last Mr. Peel could 
 not stand it longer, so he leaned over toward the 
 stranger and said in his most winning tones : 
 
 "I can't make it out at all. I can't make it out 
 at all." 
 
 "Can't make what out?" said the stranger. 
 
 "I can't make out what you do for a living." 
 
 "Now, you think pretty well of me don't you, Mr. 
 Peel?" said the stranger. 
 
 "Yes," drawled Mr. Peel. 
 
 "Well, I have not done anything to make you think 
 less of me, have I, Mr. Peel?" 
 
 "No," said Mr. Peel. 
 
 "Well, I prefer to keep to myself what I do." 
 
 This did not squelch Mr. Peel, who still gazed at 
 
ONt e:ve:ning's ente^rtainment. 319 
 
 the stranger with such a yearning interest. At last 
 Mr. Peel said: 
 
 "Are you an insurance man?'* 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Are you a lightning rod man?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Are you a book seller?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Are you a revenue officer?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 This was very discouraging, but it did not stop Mr. 
 Peel. After a long wait in silence, Mr, Peel said : 
 
 "Well, I'll be gol darned if I can make it out at all, 
 Mr. Man, what in the world do you do for a living?" 
 . "Now, look here, Mr. Peel, I don't mind telling you 
 what I do, as you are so anxious to know, but you 
 must swear to me that you will never tell a soul on 
 earth what I tell you; swear?" 
 
 "W-e-11, I won't tell anyone," said Mr. Peel. 
 
 "Well, I am a gambler," said the stranger. 
 
 "A what?" said Mr. Peel. 
 
 "A gambler," replied the stranger. 
 
 "Well, I'll be gol darned, what do you gamble on?" 
 
 "Anything, everything. Here is a pack of cards. I 
 will bet five dollars that I can turn Jack every time 
 (flipping up a Jack), will you take that bet?" 
 
 "No, I can't bet, I belong to the church." 
 
 "Well, here are some dice. I will bet you ten dol- 
 lars that I can turn sixes every time (throwing the 
 dice on the table). Will you take this bet?" 
 
 "No, I can't bet, I belong to the church." 
 
320 forge:t-me:-nots o? the: civil war. 
 
 "Well, there are two lumps of sugar, that one is 
 yours and this one is mine. I'll bet you twenty-five 
 dollars that a fly will light on mine first, will you 
 take that bet" 
 
 "No, I can't bet, I belong to the church." 
 
 After this the stranger quieted down for some time 
 and looked away off into space. At last he spied the 
 clock. He then said to Mr. Peel : 
 
 "Mr. Peel, did it ever strike you what a difficult 
 thing it is to put your mind on one thing and keep 
 it there for one hour?" 
 
 "Well, I don't know as I ever did." 
 
 "Now, there is that clock, with its pendulum going 
 backward and forward (pointing his finger and fol- 
 lowing the pendulum of the clock), here she goes, 
 there she goes, here she goes, there she goes. Do you 
 think you can follow that pendulum with you finger 
 for one hour, Mr. Peel?" 
 
 "Well, that is dead easy," said Mr. Peel. 
 
 "Well, I will bet you fifty dollars that you can't." 
 
 "Well, I'll be gol darned if I don't try you once," 
 said Mr. Peel (pulling out his money and throwing 
 fifty dollars on the table). The stranger put a simi- 
 lar amount on the table and said: 
 
 "Now, Mr. Peel, let us understand each other. If 
 you keep your mind on the pendulum of that clock 
 and follow it with your finger for one hour, the 
 money is yours, if you let your mind wander one 
 moment and forget to follow that pendulum with your 
 finger, you will lose your money. Do you under- 
 stand that?" 
 
one: e^ve^ning's e^nte^rtainment. 321 
 
 "Yep." 
 
 "All right, it is just half past nine now, you can 
 commence." Mr. Peel pointed his finger at the pen- 
 dulum and followed the motion, saying: 
 
 "Here she goes and there she goes, here she goes 
 and there she goes, here she goes and there she goes." 
 
 The stranger said, "I believe I will just take that 
 $100.00 and take a walk." 
 
 Mr. Peel got a little anxious, but stuck to his job. 
 "Here she goes and there she goes, here she goes and 
 there she goes." 
 
 About this time in came Mrs. Peel. She looked at 
 Mr. Peel for a minute trying to make out what was 
 going on. Mr. Peel got a little madder for he thought 
 his wife was in collusion with the stranger to win his 
 money, but he stuck to his job. 
 
 "Here she goes and there she goes, here she goes and 
 there she goes." 
 
 Mrs. Peel said, "what on earth are you doing, Ira? 
 What in the world are you doing? Stop that, stop 
 that, I do believe the man has gone crazy." 
 
 She rushed out. Mr. Peel stuck to his job. Here 
 she goes and there she goes. In a few minutes 
 in came Mrs. Peel with the family doctor. The doc- 
 tor walked up to Mr. Peel, taking his other hand. 
 All this made Mr. Peel get madder than ever, but he 
 stuck to his job. Here she goes, there she goes, here 
 she goes, there she goes. 
 
 Mr. Peel's eyes looked glassy, saliva was running 
 down his mustache, he looked like a wild man, but 
 he stuck to his job. 
 
322 FORGE^T-M^-NOTS OF THE^ CIVII, WAR. 
 
 The doctor said, "Mr. Peel, calm yourself, calm 
 yourself." 
 
 Mr. Peel paid no attention, stuck to his job. Here 
 she goes, there she goes. Here she goes, there she 
 goes. Here she goes, there she goes. 
 
 The doctor turned to Mrs. Peel and said, "I do be- 
 lieve he has gone crazy. Get me some scissors, get 
 me soap, get me a razor. I will shave the hair from 
 the back of the neck and put a mustard plaster on the 
 back of his neck and will try to save his life." 
 
 Mrs. Peel got all the things the doctor needed. 
 
 The doctor went on putting the mustard plaster on 
 Mr. Peel's neck, but this did not stop Mr. Peel; he 
 stuck to his job. 
 
 "Here she goes, there she goes. Here she goes, 
 there she goes. Here she goes, there she goes. 
 
 At last as half past ten o'clock arrived Mr. Peel 
 said, "There, by gum, I have won! I have won the 
 money !" 
 
 "What money?" 
 
 "Why, I bet that stranger fifty dollars that I would 
 follow the pendulum of that clock for one hour, and 
 I have done it." 
 
 "Why, that stranger left on the ten o'clock train," 
 said Mrs. Peel. 
 
 Jesse's Masterpiece. 
 
 At a meeting of the salesmen of a Lightning Rod 
 Company that I am working for in the town of Green- 
 ville, S. C, one of the salesmen named Lipscombe told 
 a story about his efforts to sell lightning rods to a Mr. 
 
ONE^ Eve:ning's e^nte^rtainment. 323 
 
 p. G. Stewart who lived about eight miles southeast 
 of a little town called Pendleton. Lipscombe said 
 that old man Stewart was the toughest proposition he 
 had ever struck. He said Mr. Stewart was a well to 
 do farmer, that he owned a mill and was also running 
 a country store. Mr. Stewart had plenty of money 
 to pay for the rods, but did not seem to want them. 
 Lipscombe said he had appealed to Mr. Stewart in 
 the most eloquent fashion, to influence him to buy the 
 rods, but to no avail. Mr. Stewart did not seem to 
 want the rods. Lipscombe had explained the best 
 way he could, all about how the metal rod was a con- 
 ductor of electricity, and if the lightning should strike 
 the house the rod would be a protector. Nothing 
 Lipscombe could say seemed to make an impression 
 on Mr. Stewart, so Mr. Lipscombe drove away with- 
 out selling any lightning rods to Mr. Stewart. He said 
 he did not believe there was a man living who could 
 sell a lightning rod to old man Stewart. 
 
 Lipscombe had hardly stopped talking before an- 
 other salesman named Grubbs spoke up and said : 
 
 "Why, that old man you are talking about is the 
 same old cuss I spent a whole day with, trying to sell 
 him a rod. I knew right away I could not do any- 
 thing with the old man, because he had a mouth like 
 a slit in a board, and a chin like the end of a brick, 
 so strong and square, then the upper back of the 
 head run to seed, so I knew that he was as stubborn 
 as a mule. I didn't fool away much time with the 
 old man, I went for the old lady. I told her every 
 story of damage done by lightning that had been pub- 
 
324 I^ORGET-ME^-NOTS 01? THE CIVIIy WAR. 
 
 lished in the papers all summer. I knew by heart all 
 these stories, and rattled them off with all the harrow- 
 ing details, till I had eighteen already dead and about 
 twenty more ready to kill, if the lightning would only 
 hold out. I had the eyes of the old lady bulging out, 
 and looking as big as saucers. I knew I had her 
 all ready to say yes, that she wanted some lightning 
 rods, when old man Stewart came in. As soon as 
 he looked at his wife and saw the look of terror on 
 her face, talk about demons, well, you just ought to 
 have seen old man Stewart! He did not say much, 
 but what he said was right to the point. He said, 
 'What you skeering my old woman for? This here 
 house has been standing here for twenty-three years, 
 and the Lord has not struck it yet, when He does get 
 ready to strike it, your little rods will do no good.' 
 This is all he said, but he pointed toward the front 
 gate with his forefinger, and I looked at that square 
 jaw of his, and his mouth was shut like a steel trap, 
 and I understood exactly what he meant, so I said, 
 'Goodbye to you all' " 
 
 Another salesman named Bagwell, spoke up and 
 said: 
 
 "Well, don't this beat anything you ever heard? 
 And just to think I was at old man Stewart's last 
 Sunday, spent the day with him and went to church 
 with his family! Did you see the pretty daughter? 
 Why, I am dead gone on her. I never spent a more 
 pleasant day in my life. They just fed me on the 
 best the farm afforded, and the old lady, ain't she 
 lovely? Why do you know she noticed a button was 
 
ONE e:ve:ning's e^nte^rtainment. 325 
 
 ' -^ 
 
 lost off my coat. She looked up a button to match and 
 sewed the button on my coat for me. The old man 
 talked about everything he could think of, except light- 
 ning rods, but I thought that was because it was Sun- 
 day and he was too religious. So I kept my mouth 
 shut on lightning rods, but I fully expected to sell 
 him on Monday morning, but when Monday morning 
 came, the old man was up and gone before I got out 
 of bed. So when I came down to breakfast and 
 learned that he was gone, and also learned that two 
 other lightning rod men had been there during the 
 month, I felt like two cents." 
 
 Grubbs said he would just like to see the salesman 
 that could sell old man Stewart a lightning rod. 
 
 Then the manager of the company spoke up and 
 said there was a salesman in the company that could 
 sell rods to old man Stewart. Lipscombe said that he 
 had just fifty dollars in his pocket to bet that no sales- 
 man in the company could sell old man Stewart any 
 rods. 
 
 The manager said, ''Well, I will just take that bet, 
 just to teach you how to take better care of your 
 money." 
 
 So the bet was made and the manager picked me 
 out to sell the rods to old man Stewart. 
 
 I said I hardly thought it was fair to expect me to 
 sell rods to Mr. Stewart after three other salesmen 
 had spent so much time on him and failed. I thought 
 that Mr. Stewart would be more prejudiced now than 
 he was before any one had talked to him on the sub- 
 ject, and I preferred to put in my time in a way that 
 
326 FORGKT-ME-NOTS OF TB.^ CIVII, WAR. 
 
 would be more profitable to me than wasting my time 
 and talents on a man like Mr. Stewart. 
 
 Mr. Gugherty, the manager, said, ''Go on, Jess, you 
 can sell him all right, and to make it more interesting, 
 I will give you the- money won if you sell the rods." 
 The fifty dollars sounded good to me, so I asked how 
 much time would be allowed me in which to sell the 
 rods. Lipscombe said I could take till Judgment day 
 if I wanted it, only it would postpone the settling of 
 the bet too long. So, after much talk it was settled 
 as to the time, and I was given three days to accom- 
 plish what was considered the impossible. 
 
 At last after much persuasion I was almost ban- 
 tered into trying my skill in the case, so to please the 
 manager and to get the fifty dollars extra, if possible, 
 I undertook to sell the lightning rods to Mr. Stewart. 
 
 I borrowed a white man as a helper, as my man was 
 a negro. I told this man that we would drive down 
 within three or four miles of Mr. Stewart's house, 
 and he would stop and stay till the next afternoon. 
 He must then come on down to Mr. Stewart's and 
 get there just in time to stay all night. I would go 
 on to Mr. Stewart's on foot and would get a job 
 with him if I could. 
 
 I said to the helper, ''when you come to Mr. Stew- 
 art's you must not know me. It makes no difference 
 what you see me doing, don't you laugh, or show any 
 signs of recognition. You simply ask for the privi- 
 lege of staying all night, and say that you are willing 
 to pay for your lodging. The following morning you 
 will know whether I have sold the rods or not." 
 
ONE evening's entertainment. 327 
 
 Well, we went on down to the neighborhood where 
 Mr. Stewart lived. The wagon with the helper was 
 stopped about three miles away, and I went on foot 
 to get a job with Mr. Stewart. When I got to his 
 house, I was told that he was down at the mill. I went 
 on to the mill and found him there at work on a mill 
 wheel. He was a great big man, with a clean shaven 
 face, and his face was as red as blood, and looked as 
 if the blood would pop out of the skin. He was 
 stooping down making some marks on a big piece of 
 pasteboard. He raised up and took a good look at me 
 as I spoke to him. I did nearly all the talking. I told 
 him I wanted a job to make some money, so that I 
 could get back home, for I lived in North Carolina. 
 He asked me what I was doing down there. I told 
 him I went down with a man with some horses and 
 expected to hold my job longer, but here I was laid 
 off with little money in my pocket, so I had to go to 
 work. What could I do? Well, most any kind of 
 light work as I was not very strong. I had had chills 
 for about eighteen months, and was not in the best 
 of health, though I hoped in that high climate, and 
 working out of doors, I would get strong, and then 
 could do better work. 
 
 This little speech must have made some impression, 
 the truth always makes an impression, and I stuck to 
 the truth. Mr. Stewart wanted to know if I knew 
 anything about water wheels. I said my father was 
 interested in a mill once and I had seen the workmen 
 build a wheel much like the old wheel he had there, 
 though I thought the buckets on my father's wheels 
 
328 ^orge:t-me:-nots oi^ the: civii. war. 
 
 were deeper than the buckets on his wheel. He said 
 that was exactly what he wanted, a wheel a foot wider 
 than the old rotten wheel in front of us, and he wanted 
 a wheel one foot in diameter larger than that one, 
 and he said, "there ain't a man in this whole county 
 that has got sense enough to get up the patterns for 
 such a wheel, or to build it." He said he would have 
 to send to Columbia to get a man to build the wheel 
 for him. I said I was hardly able to do the sawing, 
 chiseling and boring that would be necessary in build- 
 ing such a wheel, but if he would furnish me a man 
 who could handle tools, I would lay off the work as 
 it was needed and I thought we could build the wheel 
 all right. This pleased Mr. Stewart greatly, and I 
 started right in measuring up the old wheel, taking 
 down on an envelope the figures of the width, the 
 diameter, the depth of the buckets. With all these 
 measurements I asked for some clean boards to draw 
 the patterns on. There was plenty of lumber and a 
 number of niggers to do the work. In a short time 
 with chalk and pencil I had started to laying the pat- 
 terns for the wheel. I put a stake in the ground and 
 with a cord I made an improvised compass that would 
 make a circle about eleven feet in diameter. I soon 
 had the proper size circle by a few trials, and in a little 
 while I had the end section of the wheel sketched on 
 these new planks that I had arranged on the ground 
 for the purpose. As soon as Mr. Stewart saw this, 
 he showed pleasure in every part of his face. The look 
 of "I will do it, or die trying" passed away, and in its 
 place there was a look that said, ''the Good Lord is 
 
one: i^vening's entertain me:nt. 329 
 
 mighty good to me." I was much pleased with the 
 progress that I had made with the pattern of the 
 wheel, and much more pleased to know that I had 
 pleased Mr. Stewart, and had gained his friendship. 
 We took our lunch at the mill. I hardly took time to 
 eat, but was right back at work on the patterns of the 
 wheel. The other men lounged around for an hour or 
 two, for the day was warm. 
 
 Before night I had finished all the drawings, full 
 size, so the balance of the work was for the man with 
 the saw, the auger and the chisel. Mr. Stewart 
 praised me and said that was the best day's work that 
 he ever saw done. We went on up to the house. On 
 the way he asked how much wages I wanted. I told 
 him to wait and see what I was worth to him. I went 
 on out to the barn or stables with him and helped 
 him look after the stock. While we were standing in 
 the lot, I heard the rattle of chains, and the snap of 
 wagon wheels and the patter of horses' feet, and look- 
 ing up there was my man with the lightning rod 
 wagon. The man got down and asked if he could 
 stay all night. Mr. Stewart said, "Yes, I guess so," 
 and asked me if I was too tired to help the man with 
 the horses. I was nearly ready to drop in my tracks, 
 but said ''no, I am not too tired for that." When 
 I went to the wagon, the man commenced to giggle 
 and said, "You seem to be getting along vei-y well." 
 I said, "shut your mouth, you forgot what I told you. 
 You don't know me at all." 
 
 "The H— 11 I don't know you!" 
 
 About this time Mr. Stewart came toward us, I 
 
330 ^orge:t-me:-nots o^ the civir. war. 
 
 thought he heard what the man said, but he did not. 
 We carried the horses to another stable away from 
 the farmer's horses. I said to the man, "Now look 
 here, I am trying to win that money and don't give 
 me away, and I will give you ten dollars out of the 
 fifty." This fixed him, so from this we were stran- 
 gers. We ate our suppers ; the man was sent out to a 
 little house in the yard to sleep and I was put to 
 sleep with a little boy. I was so tired and sleepy I 
 could hardly sit up, but knew I had to lay the founda- 
 tion for selling the rods before I went to bed, so I 
 started to tell a story about when I was a telegraph 
 operator. I explained all about an electric battery, 
 how it was made, and mentioned all the chemicals 
 used, told how certain metals were better conduc- 
 tors than others, and how a coil of copper wire, 
 charged with electricity would become a magnet, and 
 explained how this principle was used to build tele- 
 graph instruments, explained how, by cutting the wire 
 in two, the electric current was stopped, and how, 
 when the wire was joined together again, the electric 
 current would flow, fill the coil and the coil would 
 become a magnet again. 
 
 Then I explained a telegrapher's key, how the key 
 could be rattled up and down, and would make a quick 
 sound that we called a "dot" and a slower stroke that 
 would make what we called a "dash," and with these 
 "dots and dashes" we composed an alphabet. 
 
 That a "dot and a dash" was "a," a "dash and three 
 dots" was "b," and "two dots, a space and a dot" was 
 
one; e:ve;ning's entertainme:nt. 331 
 
 "c," and a "dash and two dots" was "d" and so on 
 through the alphabet. 
 
 As I looked at Mr. Stewart and all the family sit- 
 ting around, I saw that my effort was greatly 
 appreciated, so I w^ent on to my master stroke, the 
 one thing that I knew would sell the lightning rods if 
 anything could sell them. 
 
 I told about sitting in my telegraph office when a 
 lightning storm was on the wires, and about the 
 lightning coming in on the wires, burning up the 
 paper on the table, knocking me out of my chair, and 
 injuring the instruments, so I said this taught me a 
 lesson. I said after this I would always put on my 
 ground wire, and this carried the electricity down in 
 the ground. 
 
 Then I told him about the lightning striking a cedar 
 tree in the yard at my old home. It tore the bark off 
 for a distance down toward the ground; a trace chain 
 was hanging on a limb, and when the lightning or 
 electricity got where the chain was it left the tree 
 and went on the chain to its lower end, then jumped 
 and tore the bark off all the way to the ground. 
 
 By this time the whole family, Mr. Stewart included, 
 knew exactly how a lightning rod would protect a 
 house. I said nothing about rods, but bid all good 
 night and went to bed. I slept well and was up early 
 the next morning. When we went down to the barn, 
 Mr. Stewart asked the lightning rod man, how much 
 it would cost to put rods on his house ? The man said 
 he would figure on it. The truth was he could not 
 figure at all, so Mr. Stewart discovered that the man 
 
332 FORGET- ME:-N0TS 01^ THE CIVIL WAR. 
 
 was slow at figures and turned to me and asked if I 
 could figure it up for the man. I looked up at the 
 chimney and asked how high it extended above the 
 top of the house? Mr. Stewart said about ten feet. I 
 asked the rod man how high he would run the rod 
 above the top of the chimney? He said about six 
 feet, so I commenced adding feet together, saying ten 
 and six is sixteen, and how far in the house is the 
 chimney? — about ten feet, and ten makes twenty-six 
 and for the bend around the eaves of the house, six 
 feet, and six, makes thirty-two, and twenty feet to 
 the bottom, makes fifty-two feet, and to the ground 
 four more feet, makes fifty-six feet, and six feet down 
 in the ground makes sixty-two feet, or about this, at 35c 
 per foot, makes $21.70 and $3.00 for a point makes 
 $24.70 for one rod, and three rods three times $24.70, 
 which makes $74.10. Mr. Stewart said that was 
 right, and the man could go on and put the rods up. 
 The man asked for somebody to help him, so Mr. 
 Stewart asked me if I could spare the time from the 
 mill wheel to help the man. I thought I could, and 
 I did, so we put rods on the residence, on the barn, 
 on the gin house and the mill. The total amount of 
 the bill was $247.70. After staying three days, I told 
 Mr. Stewart as we had made iio bargain about my 
 work, and this man was going right back to my home 
 in North Carolina, that if he would let me off I would 
 like to go back home to see my mother; this was the 
 truth, and there was somebody else that I was very 
 anxious to see, too, that I did not mention. 
 
 Mr. Stewart was very kind, said he did not blame 
 
one; evening's ente:rtainment. . 333 
 
 me for wanting to go home, and wanted to pay me 
 for the work on the wheel, but I said he'd been so kind 
 we would call it square, so this is how I sold the 
 lightning rods. 
 
 One of his kinsmen, hearing this story in after 
 years when his success was assured, wrote thus: 
 
 "You are the same old Jesse who lightning rodded 
 the South Carolina man's chimney, and could have 
 run a rod up his back if you had felt so disposed." 
 A good talker and worker like him did not leave many 
 houses unprotected from the stormy elements, but 
 made such staunch friends among the poor that even 
 the most rudely constructed buildings had been safe- 
 guarded against lightning after a visit from Jesse. 
 They were only too proud to do him the honor. 
 
 When he had finished these master pieces, in his 
 own inimitable style, we bade goodbye to merriment 
 and he took me back home. 
 
 I asked him on the way, "Why did you think I'd 
 leave all my loved ones and go with you to the far 
 west, without mentioning it to me first ?" 
 
 "Well, I knew when I asked you at old Liberty 
 Church that Sunday not to get married till I came 
 back, and you did not, that you loved me well enough 
 to go anywhere with me." 
 
'Tis beauteous night; the stars look brightly down 
 
 Upon the earth, decked in her robe of snow; 
 No light gleams at the window, save my own 
 
 Which gives it cheer to midnight and to one. 
 And now with noiseless step, sweet memory comes, 
 
 And leads me gently through her twilight realms, 
 What poet's tuneful lyre has ever sung, 
 
 Or delicate pencil e'er portrayed. 
 The enchanted shadow land where memory dwells? 
 
 It has its valleys cheerless, lone and drear, 
 Dark shaded by the mournful cypress tree. 
 
 And yet its sunlight, mountain tops are bathed. 
 In Heaven's own blue, upon its craggy cliffs, 
 
 Robed in the dreamy light of distant years, 
 Are clustered joys serene of other days. 
 
 — James A. Garfield. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIIL 
 How My Mothejr Disposi:d o^ Us. 
 
 The next morning at breakfast my mother looked 
 so sorrowful, like she had spent a sleepless night, 
 and even Aunt Pallas was so unusually serious look- 
 ing, that I felt my fate was decided. 
 
 Jesse came very early, as he was leaving that night, 
 and said he must see me as much as possible in the 
 short time left us. He did not want to see me or be 
 with me more than I did him, even though we might 
 be asked to part for good. He was the sunniest hearted 
 boy the Lord ever made, and the most forgiving. He 
 met my mother like she were his own, and said, 
 
 ''Well, Mammy, what have you decided to do?" 
 
 "I have decided not to stand in your way for happi- 
 ness, but you must promise me when you leave for 
 St. Louis this time, that you will not write or try to 
 see Laura again in two years. This will give you 
 both time to know your own mind, and another very 
 important thing, whether your business will succeed 
 or fail. If you love Laura as much as you seem to 
 think now you do, you would not want her to suffer 
 privations in a distant land, where no relative or friend 
 is near to help. That is my decision, and, unless you 
 do this, you will grieve me by any other course of 
 
 335 
 
336 IfORG^T-Mi:-NOTS 01^ THE CIVII. WAR. 
 
 action. I will leave you both now to talk it over, and 
 hope you may see the justice to both by acquiescing 
 in my wishes." 
 
 "Mrs. Lee, you know enough of the family his- 
 tory in this state to know that I came of good stock, 
 and we can trace our genealogy back to two kings — 
 France and Ireland. From the great battle of Hast- 
 ings on to the present time my father's family have 
 been statesmen, churchmen and jurists, in England 
 and America," Jesse proudly remarked. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Mercer, that is where you have the ad- 
 vantage of so many others, not so fortunate; being 
 well born, you should start right in the world, if there 
 is true manhood in you. Still I remember an old say- 
 ing I once heard of the Washington family, 'that the 
 best end of the vine was in the ground.' In your 
 case I sincerely hope that your family tree may bear 
 better fruit than ever before, by this union with my 
 daughter, for I have always tried to instill into her 
 mind the most exalted ideas of goodness and intrinsic 
 worth. I note with great pleasure on seeing your 
 *coat of arms,' that a strong right hand is holding the 
 cross above the crown, and I take it that as a crusader 
 your ancestor who had that crest bestowed on him 
 must have been a valiant Christian soldier, and I ask 
 you still to hold that cross higher than any earthly 
 honors. Think how many are born in obscurity, and 
 don't know whether their 'coat of arms' would contain 
 the 'bar sinister,' if they were rightly informed or 
 not! Thank God, Mr. Mercer, that you reap a har- 
 vest of good deeds, and may you continue to sow a 
 
HOW MY MOTHEJR DISPOSED O^ US. 337 
 
 heritage for future generations to Vise up and call 
 you blessed.' " My mother, after this little homily, 
 arose and left us. 
 
 "Miss Betsey, I can't live without you two 
 years longer. I shall need you to make a little nest 
 for me in my new home and among new people. We 
 can't put off our marriage two long years. It is not 
 right to ask us, is it? We have already waited two 
 years." 
 
 "Now, Jesse, don't hint at disobeying my mother, 
 for we would never be happy if we did; two years are 
 not too long for me to wait for you, if you continue 
 to love me, and two years would be too long to live 
 with you if you did not really love me. As the proverb 
 goes, Two years will not be too long for me to get 
 a good husband, and two years will be too long to 
 live with a bad one.' " 
 
 "You are right, and I will do as your mother 
 wishes, but it will be hard not to write to my little 
 sweetheart in that time. Suppose you should grow 
 indifferent and marry another in the meantime!" he 
 exclaimed. 
 
 "Never fear about me," I replied, "unless another 
 crops out like the South Carolina musician." 
 
 "Now, Miss Betsey, don't ever hint such a thing 
 again, it is a sore subject to me, and one I don't like 
 to discuss." 
 
 Aunt Pallas came by the window, and Jesse called 
 to bid her goodbye, she was so much a part of our 
 household. 
 
 "Goodbye Aunt, I am going to leave you all to- 
 
338 i^orge:t-me:-nots of the^ civii. war. 
 
 night, for my new home, and don't let the boys steal 
 Miss Betsey away from me, while I am away making 
 enough money to buy her plenty of dumplings." 
 
 "That's right. Mars Jesse, don't you ever die in debt 
 to your belly. I knows that Betsey's bin lovin' you 
 all along, cause she's bin coming out to de kitchen ever 
 sence you went to Souf Calliny and done nothing but 
 talk about how purty you is, and how anxious she is 
 to see you." 
 
 "Aunt, I cried, "I think I hear somebody calling 
 you." 
 
 That was a sad parting for us, though he went man- 
 fully to my mother and said, "We have agreed to 
 do as you desire. I know Miss Betsey loves you 
 too well to displease you, but Mammy, she loves 
 me and we shall marry some day, so don't think this 
 forced absence will make us love one another less, 
 it will only add fuel to a consuming fire." 
 
 Our parting is not for our readers to share, only 
 the tiny twinkling stars were peeping at us and we 
 were sure they would tell no tales. 
 
 "Now that our separation is near at hand. Miss 
 Betsey, I am going to leave that name as a thing of 
 the past. I don't like Laura, that is too cold, and 
 I have bethought me that *Bess' will be your name in 
 all my thoughts, for that is nearer 'best' than anything 
 else, until I may have the right to call you wife, the 
 very best of all." 
 
 "What is in a name," I quoted, "a rose by any 
 other name would smell as sweet, and your loving me 
 by any other name would make you just as dear," I 
 replied. 
 
What shall I do with all the days and hours 
 
 That must be counted ere I see thy face? 
 How shall I charm the interval that comes 
 
 Between this time and that sweet time of grace? 
 I will this dreary blank of absence make 
 
 A noble task-time, and will therein strive 
 To follow excellence, and to o'ertake 
 
 More good than I have won since yet I live. 
 So may this doomed time build up in me 
 
 A thousand graces, which shall thus be thine; 
 So may my love and longing hallowed be, 
 
 And thy dear thought and influence divine. 
 
 — ^Fbances Anne Kemble. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 Je:sse:''s Enforced Absence. 
 
 Henderson, the faithful Friday for Jesse, was only 
 too well pleased to hear that he was to be allowed to 
 go to St. Louis. The beautiful team of bays that 
 had helped to decide our fate were sold to my brother, 
 and I never saw them but I thought how much happi- 
 ness and some suffering they had been instrumental in 
 giving me. They seemed to look at me as if they 
 knew it would all end happily. Sometimes we would 
 hold sweet communion together, and wonder where 
 our kind gentle master was, and if he were thinking 
 about us. Such intelligence as shone from their mild 
 eyes bespoke their instinct, and a nod of their proud 
 heads would satisfy me that they understood and sym- 
 pathized with poor "Miss Betsey." 
 
 Once in a while there would be a rift in the clouds, 
 and a little sunshine would creep into my lonesome- 
 ness. I was bridesmaid for my dearest friends, Bettie 
 Cox and Emma Durham, and my staunch old friend, 
 Victor Thompson, was the groomsman, who waited 
 with me. 
 
 The wedding of Bettie Cox and Patrick Johns 
 was celebrated from the bride's home in Clayton. 
 After the ceremony the bride and groom, with their 
 
 341 
 
342 :porget-me:-nots of the: civii. war. 
 
 numerous attendants, drove through the country to his 
 mother's, where a wedding feast was spread. Victor 
 knew, as did all my other friends, that I was engaged, 
 and he himself was very nearly so. We could there- 
 fore go together and not be in love with each other 
 or suspected of it, as was usually the case. 
 
 *'I tell you, Bettie," he said to me on the drive, ''this 
 being in love makes me feel good all over; but right 
 here," placing his hand over his heart, "I feel some- 
 thing as big as a wash bowl when I think of that 
 girl way down in Mississippi. They say we are dis- 
 tantly related, but I believe the only kin is that my 
 father's dog run through her father's plantation, but 
 I feel all over in spots, when that little girl creeps 
 into my thoughts. How do you feel; the same way?" 
 
 "No, Vic, I can't describe my feelings, for you 
 would not understand them, besides it would make 
 you bO sorry for me, you wouldn't feel good any 
 more." 
 
 When I bade farewell to my old schoolmate and 
 returned home, I was sadder than ever. In a few 
 months more Prof. Ellington married my other bosom 
 friend and I was left with another link broken in my 
 life, a link that bound me to her in a sisterly way, 
 and our friendship was closely akin to it. 
 
 Emma Durham, years before when we were barely 
 in our teens, fell in love with our teacher of mathe- 
 matics, Professor Ellington. He was one of the hand- 
 somest men in town, besides, his personality was as 
 charming as he was handsome, and all his students 
 were very fond of him. He was years and years 
 
je^sse's dnforcdd absence. 343 
 
 older than Emma, but age hath not power to stale 
 such attractions as he possessed. So she said to me 
 one morning on our way to school : 
 
 "I love Ellington well enough to die for him, Laura." 
 
 "Well, Emma, he is so handsome, and kind to us 
 all, I am not surprised at you, for you always were 
 different from the rest of us," I replied, ''but don't 
 set your heart on the Professor, for I have heard 
 rumors of his being engaged to marry a Miss Smith, 
 who is nearer his age and will make him a wife more 
 suitable to grace his home. You know you are in 
 short dresses yet, and he has never thought of your 
 loving him," I cautiously ventured to remark. 
 
 "Oh, don't tell me that," and she stopped, but the 
 tears were rolling down her cheeks when I looked at 
 her again. 
 
 A few weeks after this conversation the Professor 
 announced to the pupils that he intended to give up 
 school work, and ended by saying, "I am going to be 
 married very shortly; that is the only reason I would 
 give up a work I dearly love, and you, my pupils, to 
 whom I feel so atached; but I shall always look back 
 with pleasant memories on the work we have done 
 together." 
 
 I glanced at Emma, who was my deskmate, and 
 saw her naturally rosy cheeks had turned so pale and 
 white, I feared she was going to faint. Then I began 
 to think Emma was seriously in love with our teacher. 
 In a few days we each had received an invitation to 
 the wedding, and were delighted to get it, except 
 one little sad heart. She told me, "I would rather 
 
344 :^orge:t-me:-nots o^ the: civii. war. 
 
 be buried than to go to his wedding and see him mar- 
 ried to another woman; I cannot go, it will break 
 my heart." 
 
 The day came at last, and all the children from 
 Clayton Academy were there in a body to congratulate 
 him and welcome his wife to our town, all but Emma 
 Durham (she never saw him again for years, her 
 father moving to another part of the state). 
 
 The months rolled along and Prof. Ellington was 
 left a widower, and in a year or two the news came 
 that he would bring another bride to his old home 
 to cheer his lonely heart; not hearing more than a 
 passing rumor, it made no deep impression, for we all 
 felt that he was not a man that could live without lov- 
 ing hands to comfort him, but when the announce- 
 ment was made that he had married Emma Durham, 
 my sister almost, and a friend always, the surprise 
 was great to our townspeople, but to me it seemed to 
 come as a matter of fact, for I felt that her love 
 should be requited after such a blow as his first mar- 
 riage, and knowing that time had only made him more 
 dear to her, but wishing to surprise me, she had kept 
 the marriage as quiet as possible. 
 
 All these things conspired to make me more hopeful, 
 but other reasons helped to make me doubt whether the 
 happiness Jesse and I had planned would ever be 
 realized, that only a dream might be left to me, but 
 such a beautiful one that life would never have been 
 the same without it. 
 
jKss^'s ENi^oRCED abse^nce:. 345 
 
 How the long days dragged "their slow lengths 
 along." I made up my mind if I waited two years 
 for my boy-lover, instead of going off to school as 
 I should have done, I v/ould stay at home with my 
 mother, for the parting from her would surely come 
 after that, God willing. She never urged the matter 
 after I told her I wanted to stay with her the balance 
 of the time. 
 
 I was placed in an embarrassing position, for as 
 soon as Jesse left us, he told every one he met that 
 we were engaged, and in two years he was coming 
 back to claim me, and his parting injunction to the 
 boys was, "Don't let Miss Betsey get too lonesome," 
 for he was satisfied they could not "cut him out." 
 
 My sister Rilia urged my mother and myself to pay 
 her a long visit in Raleigh, and I always thought she 
 did that to keep me from feeling Jesse's absence so 
 much. I had plenty of attention, and not a single 
 young man I met permitted me to get "lonesome," so 
 far as he could entertain me. They merely served to 
 pass the time, but such heart longings to see my 
 own boy lover again. 
 
 Clem Clawson, my sister's step-son, was more than 
 kind to me, but it was like a brotherly feeling. Edwin 
 Forrest happened to play "Damon and Pythias" while 
 I was visiting in Raleigh. Clem was proud to escort 
 me, and as I had never been to a theatre before he 
 said he knew I would show I was from the country 
 by crying. 
 
346 FORGET-ME-NOTS OF THE CIVIIv WAR. 
 
 "No, I will not cry now just to show you I can 
 keep from it," I answered. 
 
 We reached the opera house early and watched the 
 beautiful women, so beautifully gowned, as they en- 
 tered their boxes. 
 
 The play was well staged, and Forrest was at the 
 zenith of his fame. 
 
 As the climax was reached, where Pythias offered 
 himself to take Damon's place for him to visit his 
 (Damon's) wife, I heard a sob, and looking at Clem, 
 I saw that he was deluged with tears, both nose and 
 eyes keeping him busy. Well remembering how sure 
 he was that I would appear so green as to cry over 
 a play, it struck me so funny to see him, a big fellow, 
 sitting there blubbering like he thought I'd do. 
 
 I began to laugh at him, and he continued to weep 
 copiously, and I still laughed until I nearly had hys- 
 terics. 
 
 "I think you are the coldest hearted girl I ever 
 saw," he said, between his sobs and snorts. That 
 set me off laughing again as I saw his red nose and 
 tear stained face. 
 
 ''I shall never take you to a theatre again," he 
 wailed. 
 
 ''And I shall never go with a big cry baby like you 
 either," I angrily retorted. ''Look at Wesley Jones 
 and Tom Ferrall laughing at you and wringing out 
 their handkerchiefs as they mop their eyes like you. 
 Just look and see, I wish now I had gone with Wesley, 
 only you asked me first." 
 
Jesse's enforced absence. 347 
 
 This conversation took place between the acts, but 
 when the final act came and Damon received a pardon 
 and was restored to his wife, I felt a tear had risen 
 to my eyes for the reunion of the loved one, and I 
 thought of the day ''when two souls with but a single 
 thought, two hearts that beat as one" should be united, 
 never more to part. 
 
 My mother and I returned to our home, but there 
 seemed something wanting, and I was restless. Nealie 
 and her children helped to divert me, but never for 
 long. 
 
 Richard came again with renewed efforts, to win or 
 die, so did Ben and the others, but I could not bear 
 for them to speak of love to me. 
 
 One day I met an original character and one 
 worthy of better word-painting than my poor pen 
 can do. She took me by the hand, and winking her 
 left eye, jerked her head down on the same side, and 
 with a most positive way of clinching her lips tightly 
 together after each word, she said: 
 
 ''Well, Bettie, I hear you are to marry that young 
 lightning rod agent after two years," a wink and a 
 nod with each word. I replied, "I hope so. We are 
 on probation now." 
 
 "Well, you take a fool's advice and write to him 
 to come back, and get married and go with him to 
 St. Louis. You've heard my horn, so good bye." 
 
 Many other friends begged me to do likewise, but 
 no, I had promised mother to wait, and I would keep 
 my promise. 
 
348 forge:t-me:-nots of the: civil war. 
 
 Now and then Mrs. Harrell received a few lines 
 from Jesse, and though he felt most keenly this sepa- 
 ration, he never once complained, but wrote such cheer- 
 ful letters that they were almost like a visit from his 
 own sunny self. 
 
Yet why I know not, yearned my spirit to you, 
 Nor why for you it kept a vacant throne; 
 
 I only know it came, and that I knew you 
 By Love's authentic token — for my own. 
 
 — Anonymous. 
 
CHAPTER XXXV. 
 My Mother Makes Us Happy at Last. 
 
 The letters soon showed that Jesse had been wise in 
 selecting such a business centre and a business that 
 was new in many ways. In the beginning it was hard 
 work to canvass the United States, and try and 
 impress every doctor with the virtue of the new chem- 
 ical preparations or compounds, but working not alone 
 for money and its equivalent, but working for the 
 love of a young girl's happiness, made it almost easy 
 to accomplish, and success had crowned his efforts 
 from the first, and now, at the expiration of two years, 
 he had five thousand dollars to his credit, and suffi- 
 cient income to set up housekeeping in his western 
 home. Each letter brought such good news that I 
 was convinced more fully that our patient waiting 
 would be rewarded, after a time. 
 
 My brother Bob who had been engaged in business 
 in Durham fell in love with the beautiful daughter of 
 Thomas Lyon. Her name was also Bettie, and when 
 he wrote to us that he would give to my mother 
 another Bettie Lee, to take my place, we all felt grate- 
 ful to him. 
 
 They were married and came to live with mother, 
 and after all I felt that kind Providence had spared 
 
 351 
 
352 forget-me:-nots of the: civii. war. 
 
 me the pang of leaving her all alone. My mother had 
 had nothing but love and self denial for me, and had 
 worked so hard to make things easy for me. 
 
 O, mother, you never could have done more, and 
 might have done less, and I would have still been the 
 better. Your love, like my husband's, shine like twin 
 stars. 
 
 "Time was made for slaves," as I found out in the 
 long wait, though everything comes to the patient 
 waiter after a while. 
 
 The winter came, with the gayeties usual to a small 
 town. In March our suspense would end. I saw, each 
 day, my mother look longingly at me, as if the dreaded 
 time was coming all too soon for her. 
 
 The last of February she called me to her and said, 
 "Well done, daughter, you have won the fight, and 
 will soon leave me. Sit down and write to Jesse, and 
 tell him to come back, that I will not longer stand 
 in the way of your happiness. You have been a duti- 
 ful daughter to me all your life, and you deserve to 
 marry your first and only love. 'For love is the 
 divine elixir that sweetens and makes life run smooth, 
 and marriage, if happy, is the crown to any woman's 
 life.' Write to Jesse and tell him to come back and 
 claim his reward, for I cannot." 
 
 You may be sure I lost no time in doing as my 
 mother bade me, and in reply received a telegram, say- 
 ing that he would reach Clayton on Saturday, and 
 we could be married on the following Tuesday. 
 
 I said, "why, mother dear, I can't be married so 
 soon, for I have no trousseau prepared." 
 
/ 
 
MY MOTHER MAKE:S US HAPPY AT L,AST. 353 
 
 "Yes, my darling child, your sisters and I have made 
 you a lovely outfit, except of course a very important 
 thing, your dresses, which I advise you to get when 
 you reach your western home, for what you would get 
 here might not be suitable for that climate. We can 
 have your wedding gown and a traveling dress ready 
 by the time you need them." 
 
 ''Oh, my mother, you are the best mother any girl 
 ever had, and I don't deserve such consideration, for 
 I am sure I have not tried to do all for you these two 
 years that you have been doing for me, but I do love 
 you very dearly," and here we both wept together, in 
 silence. How the days dragged for me, and how they 
 must have flown for my mother, for Saturday came, 
 and with it my heart's desire and love, and with Jesse 
 came his own dear mother, an earthly saint. Our 
 meeting like our parting is too sacred to be told here, 
 but we two children were happy, so happy, heaven 
 seemed to open to us after those long black years of 
 weary waiting. When I met his sweet mother, and 
 she took me in her motherly embrace and said, "I 
 welcome you, my daughter, to my home and my heart ; 
 I know what my precious boy has suffered, but, Oh, 
 you were worth waiting for;" my heart went out to her 
 that moment, and as long as memory lasts I will con- 
 tinue to bear a daughter's love for his mother. 
 
 My mother then came in, and taking Jesse by the 
 hand and calling me to her said, ''Take her, my son, 
 and may God bless you both always." 
 
 Then my boy-lover said, "Mammy, our home is 
 yours and my mother's whenever you will come to us. 
 
354 forge;t-me:-nots of the: civil war. 
 
 There is nothing too good for my wife's mother and 
 you above all women deserve more than we can ever 
 do for your happiness, for your clear, farseeing judg- 
 ment has kept us from committing the sin of disobe- 
 dience, which no doubt would have kept us from enjoy- 
 ing the Eden we shall now have." 
 
 ''Yes," she replied, ''the Eden you have will be the 
 Eden you make for each other." 
 
 Just then Aunt Pallas came in carrying a bundle 
 up stairs. She asked, "how is you all?" 
 
 Mrs. Harrell answered, "The children are happy at 
 last, Aunt Pallas." 
 
 Aunt said, as she started up stairs, "May they die," 
 and toiling up, step after step, with the large package, 
 reaching the top step, said, "happy." 
 
 Tuesday morning dawned fair and beautiful with- 
 out a cloud to dim the brilliant azure of the heavens. 
 We were to be married at high noon and leave at two 
 p. m. for our St. Louis home. 
 
 Jesse's favorite niece, Margaret Rhodes, acted as 
 bridesmaid, and my old friend, Victor Thompson, was 
 best man. 
 
 Dr. Harrell, Jesse's brother-in-law, performed the 
 ceremony, and when he said, "Jesse Mercer, do you 
 take this woman, whom you hold by the right hand, to 
 be your lawful and wedded wife, forsaking all others, 
 and cleave only unto her?" "I will," came in clear 
 ringing tones. 
 
 When he said, "Laura Elizabeth Lee, do you take 
 this man to be your lawful and wedded husband? Do 
 you promise to love, honor and obey him, forsaking 
 
MY MOTHE:r makes US HAPPY AT LAST. 355 
 
 all others, to cleave only unto him, so long as you 
 both do live?" "I will," came from a sincere heart. 
 
 Then repeating, ''Until death us do part/' he said, 
 ■ 1 pronounce you man and wife; what, therefore, God 
 hath joined together, let no man put asunder." 
 
 Then standing in the doorway, his mother and my 
 mother, our mothers now, with blessings bade us "God 
 speed" as we were leaving to begin a new life together 
 in a strange land. 
 
 Now we hear the shrill shriek of the locomotive, 
 and we are whirling away together, my boy-lover still, 
 but always a manly man, whispered in my ear: 
 
 ''I bless the day the horses brought me Bess 
 and luck." 
 
 The: End. 
 
 I wonder if ever a song was sung, 
 
 But the singer's heart sang sv/eeter? 
 I wonder if ever a rhyme was rung, 
 
 But the thought surpassed the meter? 
 I wonder if ever the sculptor wrought. 
 
 Till the cold stone echoed his inmost thought? 
 Or if ever a painter, with light and shade, 
 
 The dream of his inmost soul betrayed? 
 
 — Anonymous. 
 
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