^f/ THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA LIBRARY THE WILMER COLLECTION OF CIVIL WAR NOVELS PRESENTED BY RICHARD H. WILMER, JR. ./ ///<^ // ' (7 The Sumy Land: Q>'Uj , PRISON PKOSE ANI) POETRY, CONTAINING THE PRODUCTIONS OF THE ABLEST WRITERS IN THE SOUTH AND PRISON LAYS OF DISTINGUISHED CONFEDERATE OFFICERS, BY Col. BUEHRING H. JONES, 60TH Virginia Infantry. EDITED, WITH PREFACE, BIOGRAPHIES, SKETCHES, AND STORIES, By J. A. HOUSTON. The land we love— a queen of lands, No prouder one the world has known ; Though now uncrowned, upon her throne % She sits with fetters on her hands. BALTIMORE: 1868. Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the Year i86S, By BUEHRING H. JONES, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Maryland. Innes & Company, Printers, Baltimore, Md. PREFACE. The recent war aroused the slumbering multitude from a deep lethargy; brought a host of unknown heroes into the field, and quickened into new life many gifted intellects that otherwise might have remained dormant. The soul- stirring events which followed each other in rapid succes- sion, gave a fresh impulse to experienced writers ; and num- bers whose names had never before appeared in the world of letters, took up their pens to express their deep emo- tions, and to recall the thrilling incidents of a long, cruel, and sanguinary conflict. The Sunny Land contains some of the best products of their joint labors, and will prove another valuable addition. to the collection of Southern literature. A majority of these selections make no reference to the political questions which then divided the Union into two hostile parties struggling for the mastery. They are gen- erally descriptive of actual occurrences, or poetical effu- sions expressing the deepest emotions of the heart. They never display the passionate resentment that might have been expected to emanate from an oppressed, exasperated and suffering people ; and they often breathe the longings of the soul for a return of peace and prosperity. Even the prison lays composed by Confederate officers under the most aggravating circumstances ; when they were endur- ing a long and cheerless confinement; when their own IV PREFACE. families were houseless and homeless wanderers without shelter; when their cities smoked in ruins, and the whole land was drenched in fraternal blood, — are all remarkably free from a bitter and vindictive spirit. The story entitled " The Sunny Land," is not a work of pure fiction. Some of our readers will remember the thrilling scenes described, and recognize in its chosen char- acters a faithful portrait of the original actors in a bloody drama. The infamous conduct of Captain Pike ; the cow- ardice of the blustering Lieutenant; the devotion of Gra- ham Hardee ; the adventures of Edward Ash ton ; the ope- rations of Rev. Stanton ; the cruelty of irresponsible in- dependent companies, — are but so many incidents and remi- niscences of cruel war dressed up in the pleasing garb of fiction. The conflict is now over; the conquered banner has been folded, and the olive branch of peace waves over the blighted, desolate, ruined sunny South. "The land we love, the queen of lands, No prouder one the world has known." The tempest has spent its fury, coercion has done its worst, and the war-song is hushed. We may now collect the broken fragments, and gather up the sacred mementoes of a lost cause, as the last relic of other days never to be forgotten. It is a duty we owe to ourselves and to poster- ity, to preserve a faithful record of the events that occur- red during that fearful period, and thereby to warn all future generations to avoid the fatal whirlpool of civil con- tention. Col. BUEHRING H. JONES, COth VA. INFANTKY. BuEHRiNG H. Jones was born on the 12th of May, 1823, at Clif- ton, Kanawha County, Virginia. His father was a respectable far- mer, his mother was a Morris of Culpeper County, and his grand- father one of the pioneers who had borne arms in defence of that State. Mr. Jones was carefully educated, and well instructed in religious principles. He has ever sustained a high reputation for morality, honesty and integrity, and has respectively filled the positions of a teacher, lawyer, editor and legislator, with unusual ability. At the beginning of the late war he was residing in Missouri. He opposed secession in the beginning, and labored for the preservation of the Union under the Constitution, until the President adopted the policy of coercion, and called for seventy-five thousand men. Two days after he heard of the secession of Virginia, he left Missouri and hastened back to his native State, raised a company of infantry called the "Dixie Rifles," and on the 23 d of June, 1861, entered the Confederate service. It is not our purpose to follow Col. Jones through the various cam- paigns of the late war. He, in common with the Confederates, min- gled in many bloody conflicts and endured untold hardships. He was actively engaged in the seven days' fight before Richmond, and at Mechanicsville led his regiment against a strong Federal battery, and carried it at the point of the bayonet. He was in that hard con- test at Cedar Run, and soon afterwards participated in the expulsion of the Federals from the Kanawha Valley. During this period he was distinguished for his bravery, and was several times complimented in the official reports of commanding generals on account of his cool- ness, gallantry and efficiency. Soon after the desperate engagement of Cloyd's Mountain, Gen. Vi COL. BUEHRING H. JONES, 60rH VA, INFANTRY. McCausland was promoted, and Col. Jones was placed in command of that brigade. His prospects were now most flattering, and tke brevet of a Brigadier- General seemed almost a certainty. The main forces under Gen. Hunter were then advancing towards Staunton, and on the 5th of June the battle of New Hope, or Pied- mont, was fought. Here the Confederates made a heroic stand, but they were overwhelmed by superior numbers, outflanked, and finally routed. Col. Jones was amongst the last to leave that blood-stained battle- field, and fell into the hands of the enemy. He was sent to Johnson's Island, where he was kept in confinement as a prisoner of war until the 19th of June, 1865, when he was released by order of the Presi- dent, mainly at the intercession of Miss Kate Smoot (now Mrs. M. Taylor) of Alexandria. As soon as he was released from his long imprisonment, he re- turned to Lewisburg, West Virginia, physically and financially ruined. Being prevented from pursuing his profession by unreason- able, unjust, and odious partisan laws enacted against the popular will of the people, he industriously gathered up the principal manu- scripts which compose this volume, and added to it a number of productions from his own pen. He yet resides in " The sunny South ! the sunny South! The laud that gave him birth, Where brightest hopes once cheered his youth, The land of generous worth." CONTENTS A Prisoner's Fanx'T, - Arthur Murray, our Little Hero, A Poem, ----- A Dirge for ashby. An Invocation, - . . - A Prayer for Peace, A Love Letter, Page. Col. W. S. Hawkins, 269 Capt. A. J. Peeler, 273 Stonewall" Jackson, 371 Mrs M.J.Preston, 398 Col. W. S. Hawkins, 427 Major S. Y. Levy, 438 Major S. Y. Levy, 519 Bury our Dead, Bay-Blossom Cottage, 325 Lieut. H.C Wright, 363 Creigh, David S., - Cousin Maggie's Posey, " Clinging to Thee," W. H. Syme, Maj.S. Y. Levy, 402 495 338 Dead, -------- Do WE Weep for the Heroes that Died for Us? Col. W. S. Hawkins, Rev. A. J. Ryan, 250 313 Eight Years Ago, " Exchanged," W. E. Penn Maj. Geo. McKnight, 268 536 First Love, - . . - . Federal Policy and Northern Prisons, Farewell to Johnson's Island, Col. B. H. Jones, 252 - Southern Review, 440 Maj. Geo. McKnight, 536 Give Up, Home Again, Col. B. H. Jones, 272 Lieut. H. C. Wright, 265 If a Soldier Meet a Soldier, In Memoeiam -JiTEbNAM — My Brother, 1 AM Coming, Ella, - - . - Gen. M. Jetf Thompson, 324 - Col. B. H. Jones, 352 - J. U. Shorter, 354 Johnson's Island, Lieut. E. A. Holmes, 265 Lee to the Rear, Listening, - - - - Living and Dying, Laying away the Old Flag, J. R. Thompson, Lieut. E. C. McCarthy, Maj. Geo. McKnight, 259 355 3(yi 397 My Prison Drear, My Southern Home, My Love and I, My Wife and Child, Music in Camp, My First Ninety Days, Lieut. D. T. Walker, 266 Col. B. H. Jones, 308 Maj. Geo. McKnight, 311 Henry R. Jackson, 317 J. R. Thompson, 365 Col. B. H. Jones, 501 Our Sotttheex Dead, Rev. A. J. Ryan, .=)28 Vlll CONTENTS. PniV/n-ES IN THE IiANKS, - - - - Rat DEN LixDEN, " Stonewaxl " Jacksox's Way, "Stox'ewall" Jacksox's Gkave, Sextixel Soxgs, .... Stitart, -...--_ Silence, ...... Sunset in Prisox% The Sunny L\xd, a Story of the Cruel War, To A Dear Comforter. - . . . The Prayer of the South, The Four Brothers, - . . . . The Dying Christian Warrior, The Victory of Truth, ■ The Volux'teer's Returx*, The Federal Chaplain^'s Story, The Martyrs of the South, The Hero "without a Name, To Miss C. P. B. Too Touxg to Die, - The Cliff beside the Sea, To My Departed Father, - . . . To Miss K. M. S.. of Alexandria, The Substitute, ..... The Womex' of the South. ... The Deathbed of "Stonewall" Jacksox, The Dyixg Mother, .... The Swokd of Robert Lee, - - The Catalier's Serenade, The Prisoner's Dream. .... The Death of William H. Mitchel. The People ix Grey, _ . . . The Reasox^ Why, .... The Mixsteel ax'd the Queen, The Recompex'^se, ..... The Voices of the Winds. . . . . The Two Sides of the Prison Question, The Triple Barbed Banner, To the Coxtederate Dead. The Loved and Lost, To ExcHAX'GE Commissioner Ould, The Couxtebsign, - ... To THE Ladies of Virginia, The Men, ...... To a Photograph, ..... The Coxquered Baxx'er, .... Virginia Desolate. ViDi Ami Plorare. - ViRGIXTA Captje, ..... ViCKSBUBG, ..... I'AGE. Lieut E. C. McCarthy, 482 CoL B. H. Joues, 466 36'J Mrp. M. .J. Preston, 373 Rev. A J.Ryan, 435 Col. W. W.Fontaine, 473 Lieut. .J. E. Doolej% 527 Lieut. J. E. Dooley, 538 - Editor, 1 CoL B. H. Jones, 247 Rev. A. J. Ryan, 256 Lieut. E C. McCarthy, 263 James R. Brewer, 264 (ol. W.S.Hawkins, 3114 Lieut. H. C. Wright. 309 Mrs. Gen"l Smith, 319 A. B. Meek, 321 Col. W. S Hawkins, Sal Col. B.H.Jones, 360 J. B. Smith, 361 Col. W. W. Fontaine, 368 Stonewall .Jackson, 371 Col. B. H. Jones, 373 - Paul H. Hayne, 377 Col B.H.Jones. 383 - Col. B. H. Jones, 387 Col.B. H.Jones, 388 Rev. A. J.Ryan, 397 400 Col. B. H. Jones. 424 Lieut. J. E. Dooley, 434 Col.B. H.Jones, 462 Col. B.H.Jones, 4frl Col. W. S. Hawkins, 468 Capt. J. B. Clarke, 476 Maj.S. TatesLevy. 479 Col. B. H. Jones, 483 Col. W. S. Hawkins, 496 Col. W. W. Fontaine, 497 Col. B. H. Jones, 499 Maj. Geo. McKnight, 516 Col. W. W. Fontaine, 523 Col. W. W. Fontaine, 525 Maurice Bell, 531 - Capt. J. B; Clarke, 532 - Rev. A. J. Ryan, 539 Col. W. W . Fontaine. 350 J. E. Dooley 356 Mrs. M. Jf. Preston. 529 Paul H. Hayne, 534 Woman's Love, Will no One Write to Me ? Lieut. Howard C. Wright, Maj. Geo. McKnight, 470 475 CIjc Smxmj i^n;itir ; u Steg of tlje Cnul Mar. CHAPTEE I. The Belle of Two Cities. Our storj opens at a period when every intelligent per- son might have observed ominous signs of an approaching civil war, yet these indications were generally unheeded until the first clang of arms awoke the drowsy multitude from their long slumbers. The people did not suppose it possible that a long, fearful and unnatural contest would spring up in their midst, and be waged with such relent- less fury. They never expected to see the time, when neighbor would be arrayed against neighbor, friend against friend, and brother against brother — when towns would be burned — when cities would smoke in ruins, and the whole land would be drenched in fraternal blood. They failed to perceive the encircling current of popular delu- sion, bearing them nearer, and yet nearer, the great vortex, destined to swallow up millions of their fellow creatures ; and so complete was their apathy that they did not observe the foaming breakers in the distance, nor comprehend the angry clash of the warring elements. Even at this early period, lawless malcontents were 1 2 THE SUNNY LAND; busily engaged in stirring up strife, and designing dema- gogues were endeavoring to arouse the worst passions of the people. Spirits as subtle as that of Cade or Danton, were marshaling the hosts of a sectional party beneath the black flag of abolition, and denouncing our noble con- stitution, the great bulwark of civil and religious liberty, as a " covenant with death and a league with hell." Dis- tinguished political adventurers, thoroughly imbued with the vile spirit of fanaticism, determined to rule or ruin, were like Sampson, blindly attempting to pull down our magnificent structure of freedom, unmindful of the mil- lions who would be crushed beneath its falling arches. But notwithstanding all these portentous signs of ap- proaching troubles, it was generally believed that the gath- ering clouds along the northern horizon would disperse, that the muttering thunders would be hushed, and that the threatened tempest would soon pass away, leaving the political heavens as calm and serene as they appeared in the purest days of the Eepublic. They vainly imagined that right, justice, and reason, would triumph over sec- tional hate, malice, and ill-will. They knew not that they were slumbering over a fearful volcano, whose increasing internal disorders might then have been perceived ; which finally shook this continent with terrible convulsions, des- olated vast regions, and filled the land with wails and lam- entations. Our wise men understood these indications and spoke of approaching evil. They read the "hand writing on the wall " and warned the people to prepare for the fiercest storm that ever swept over the Western Hemisphere, but their words were not regarded. The people yet believed that the machinations of unscrupulous men would be over- ruled, and that they would long be permitted to rest in quiet, peace, and prosperity. The curtains of night had gathered over the city of Nashville at the close of a long sultry day, in the summer i A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 6 preceding the beginning of the recent civil war. The heat had been bo intense as to drive the citizens from the streets, but after sunset a refreshing breeze 8j)rang up, which reduced the temperature of the atmosphere to such a degree, as to render it comfortable to all persons accus- tomed to a Southern clime. At an early hour that night, a perfect throng of people poured out into the streets, and crowded the great thoroughfares, as if in pursuit of some long expected pleasure. Every house seemed to have dis- gorged its last inmate ; for those not disposed to exercise in the open air, were seated on the marble steps in front of their dwellings, grouped in quiet social circles, an hon- ored custom common to all Southern cities. At the same time the elite of Nashville were wandering along the streets, or promenading in the more fashionable resorts, two individuals might have been seen seated in an elegantly furnished parlor, engaged in a quiet conversation. One of these was a well dressed young gentleman, about twenty years of age, of medium height, possessing a hand- some figure, and a fine open and attractive countenance. His features were regular, his forehead prominent, his eyes expressive of much mental activity, and his whole appear- ance indicated manliness, firmness and more than ordinary ability. The other party, a young lady, perhaps near the same age, was somewhat extravagantly dressed in a most fash- ionable style, and reclined in an easy chair, in a graceful attitude. We will not attempt a concise description of this queenly beauty, known as " the belle of two cities." She certainly possessed more charms than is usually allotted to her sex. She had every quality calculated to win the affections of a young man of twenty years, and being reputed wealthy, and known to be accomplished, the gay world bestowed on her many smiles as she moved through the highest cir- cles of society. 4 THE SUNNY LAND ; At the moment we introduce the reader into the pres- ence of these two individuals, destined to occupy a prom- inent position in our story, they were both silent. The young man sat with his eyes fixed on her fair countenance, as if puzzled by an enigma which he was utterly unable to solve. A shade of sadness gathered over his expressive features, as he watched the cold, but beautiful fiice of one he dearly loved. After a few moments had elapsed, he said : "Dear Pennie, I hear you think of leaving Nashville." " Yes sir," she replied in a distant manner, " 1 think of returnins: home." "When do you expect to set out for Cincinnati?" he asked, in a tone that betrayed the deep interest he felt in this subject. "In two or three days," replied the beautiful girl, and at the same time she lifted her eyes to his face in order to learn the eifect of the announcement. " So soon ? " exclaimed this gentleman — " so soon ! " he repeated, without any attempt to disguise the actual feel- ings of his heart. "Yes sir," she replied in the same formal manner. "1 hope soon to be with my father and mother." The young man looked at the beautiful "belle of 'two cities " a few moments, in a manner which bespoke both sadness and tenderness, and then continued — " I hope often to hear from you." '^ I do not know," she replied, in an assumed and care- less tone. "I will write occasionally to my relatives in this city." A painful expression gathered over his face, but after a moment's hesitation, he continued with a2:)parent calmness : " Dear Pennie, you know how dear you are to me, and you have often confessed that I am loved in return. We have together vowed that vow never to be broken. We have sworn to live for each other, to love each other, and " A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 5 " Edward — Mr. Ashton," exclaimed the lady, interrupt- ing him in the midst of the sentence. He ceased speaking, and Pennie cast down her head, as if at a loss how to pro- ceed, but after a moment she continued : " Mr. Ashton, in- deed I do not love you ! I once imagined I could bestow on you my heart and hand, but I cannot; and the sooner we forget our little flirtation the better it will be for each of us." Edward Ashton was utterly astonished at this unexpect- ed announcement, which had, in a moment, blasted his fondest hopes of happiness. He was deeply wounded to think he had lavished the warm affections of his heart on one so unworthy. He had believed Pennie pure, open- hearted, unselfish, and above deception ; but now she had with rude hands, torn the bandage from his eyes,. and ex- posed her moral deformity. He felt that the world would be a blank without the sunshine of her smiles ; but the belle who now sat before him was not the bright creature he had worshipped. The idol was there, but it had lost its beautiful proportions. The lovely form remained, with all its matchless perfections, but it could attract him no more. When she had concluded her cold and unfeeling words, he slowly replied — " Then you never loved me, and deceived me by false representations. You acted your part well, won my heart, and now would break that sacred engagement with perfect indifference. I will not upbraid you. I would not if I could, hold you to your faithless promises." Edward arose to depart, resolved to bid her adieu for- ever, but she commenced speaking, and he resumed hi^ seat. "Mr. Ashton," she said, " I would not have you to think that I would engage myself to any one without feeling a particle of love. I met you in the first circles of society, and supposed that you were wealthy; and I then believed you in every respect, my equal, but now I know you pos- sess nothing." 6 THE SUNNY LAND; "You discard me," said Edward, bitterly, "because I am not wealthy. I never dreamed that you whom I adored would permit such considerations to govern the feelings of the heart." " I have other reasons," replied the proud belle. "I would be pleased to hear them," said Edward. " Since you request it," replied Pennie, "I will say that I have been informed your own sister occupied a menial position — that of a servant in this city." Edward's face instantly flushed with anger, but it soon passed away, leaving him unusually pale. Some moments afterwards he replied in a low and solemn tone : " It is not true. I once had a sister — • the best of sisters — she now rests in the silent grave." The young man ceased to speak. The most painful emotions struggled in his breast, and marked every linea- ment of his face. Even the proud and dashing belle was appalled at the storm she had raised, and remained silent. Finally, Edward arose to his feet and said: " It is useless to prolong this painful interview. I once imagined you all I desired, and I thank you for dispelling the vain illusion. You deceived me, but " " I did not deceive you intentionally," said Pennie, inter- rupting him again ; " but, Mr. Ashton, the day will never come when I will wed one beneath me — one who is pen- niless, and have it said that my husband's sister was a common servant." " We have no servants in the South but our slaves," he replied, indignantly. " Again I thank you for these bitter ;words " — he continued," for this reference to a sainted sister, once the joy and happiness of my life. The remembrance of this will assist me to tear your image from my heart.'' Edward turned to leave the room, but Pennie instantly sprang to her feet and exclaimed — ""Forgive me — I did not wish to ofl'end. I only spoke of the dead in order to justify my own conduct." A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 7 He stood irresolute a few moments, as if struggling against the aroused passions of his nature, and then walked back, extended his hand, and said : '' No, I would not leave you thus"; I will forgive the wrong, pain, and injury you have inflicted. Farewell, forever!" The painful interview had terminated, the young man had departed, and the " belle of two cities " was now alone, buried in her own reflections. She had accomplished her purpose in breaking ofl* the engagement, and was once more free to choose from a host of admirers who were ready to lay their fortunes at her feet, but she was not, and could not be happy. She had done violence to the better feelings of her heart, and must endure the fearfal penalty. Every sinful pleasure in this life is said to leave behind it a sting. It was certainly so with Pennie on this occa- sion. She long sat with a sad countenance, musing on the work she had accomplished. She knew that she loved Ed- ward as she loved no other person, and she believed he was far more worthy of her heart and hand than any of those who followed in her train. She was astonished that it should give her so much inward pain to dismiss him for- ever. She cared not for her broken vows, nor sacred prom- ises, but she could not still an aching void within her own breast. Pride was her only consolation — the anti- dote she now conjured to quiet a troubled conscience and to justify the course she had pursued. " How could I," she exclaimed half aloud, " stoop to wed one so much beneath me — one without a fortune ? I can and will choose a part- ner for life who possesses an abundance of this world's goods. I must school this foolish heart, and crush these afl'ections which have sprung up unbidden." Thus the fair Pennie reflected; but she learned to her sorrow that it is much easier to reason than to perform. She was, in some respects, cold and heartless, yet she found it impossible to overcome the instincts of her womanly O THE SUNNY LAND; nature — the desire to love and to be loved in return. Then again she was maddened at the thought that she could never recall the bitter words she had spoken — that it was useless to repent of this act, that she could never again reinstate herself in the good graces and warm affe;)- tions of the only one she had ever admired. Pennie Eaymond was the only daughter of a Cincinnati merchant, reputed to be very wealthy. She had long been the acknowledged belle of her native city, where she had reigned without a rival. A few months previous to the period when our story opens, she came on a visit to her relatives, who resided in ]^ashville, and soon had the pleasure of creating a consid- erable sensation in the highest circles of society. Here she often met with Edward Ashton, and was soon constrained to admit that she loved the handsome young gentleman. She despised the swarm of gay flatterers who fawned at her feet, and lavished her affections on one chosen object. Iso dissensions, such as sometimes mark the course of true love, had ever arisen to mar their happiness, until the night described, when she lightly treated her solemn vows, and spurned a love she was not worthy to receive. Such was the proud and beautiful " belle of two cities." A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. CHAPTEE II. A Member of the Nashville Bar. Edward Ashton was the only son of a prominent law- yer, who had resided in a flourishing village in West Tennessee. He was noble, kind, and generous to a fault, sometimes making a much greater sacrifice for the benefit of his friends than duty required. He was an honor to his profession, admired by his associates, and esteemed by a large circle of his acquaintances. Mr. Ashton was supposed to be wealthy. He possessed a considerable amount of real estate, and, for a long time, controlled a large practice at the bar. Some years previous to the period of which we write, he resolved that Edward should have the benefit of a thorough classical education. He accordingly sent him to one of the most distinguished institutions of the South, where he finally graduated with honor; then returned home and began reading law, at which he continued until his studies were suddenly interrupted by the unexpected death of both his father and mother. Martha Ashton, Edward's only sister, a beautiful and fragile creature, was then in her sixteenth summer. She possessed a feeble constitution, and seemed unable to grap- ple with the difficulties of this life ; but her brother was ready to console her in every hour of distress. She was deeply grieved at the sudden death of her parents. Ed- ward pitied her in her loneliness, sorrow, and despondency, and extended to her that sympathy she so much needed. 1* 10 THE SUNNY LAND; He was much surprised to learn that, owing to some se- curity debts, his father's estate would prove insolvent. Every thing they possessed, including the old homestead, were swept away by these liabilities, and he was tljen thrown entirely upon his own resources. Edward now left Martha in charge of a relative, and proceeded to Nashville, in search of employment. After considerable delay, he obtained a situation in a large wholesale house, at a salary barely sufficient for his own support, and consequently was compelled to remain separa- ted from his sister. He now went to work with a light heart, determined to make his way through the world without assistance. By close application and strict integrity, he soon won the con- jBdence of his employer, who advanced his wages to an amount he supposed would be sufficient to maintain him- self and his sister, by using close economy. Martha soon afterwards joined her brother in Nashville, where she formed the acquaintance of a pious lady, belong- ing to that class who are ever ready to perform whatsoever "their hands findeth to do," and "never weary of well doing." She kindly invited the lonely orphan to reside with her as a companion. This generous offer was accepted, and she became one of that family. The word servant, in the odious sense it is sometimes used, especially in the Northern latitudes, was never ap- plied to her in this new situation, by any one familiar with the manners and customs of the South. She was here treated as an equal, and in every way rendered comforta- ble, happy and contented. Martha did not long enjoy this new home. Her health o-radually failed, and she finally passed away from earth like a flower in its first bloom, nipped by the hoary frosts of winter. Soon after this sad event, 'Pennie Eaymond came to Nashville, in order to spend a few months with her friends. A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 11 Edward then met with the gay and dashii.^," " belle of two cities." He first admired, and then loved her with all the ardor of his susceptible nature. On the following night after the occurrence of the events heretofore related, a young man was seated in a law office fronting on one of the principal streets of Nashville, en- gaged in perusing a daily journal, and surrounded by a profusion of law books, magazines, and miscellaneous works. This gentleman was perhaps a little above the ordinary height, well formed and muscular. His countenance, eyes and forehead indicated a man of superior abilities, and great force of character. His features were all regular, and he might with much propriety have been pronounced handsome. Such was the appearance of Graham Hardee, attorney at law, and a member of the bar, then practicing his pro- fession in ISTashville. He read a short time, and then cast the journal aside with an impatient gesture ; after which he remained mo- tionless, apparently lost in his own reflections. Whatso- ever may have been the nature of his reverie, it was evident that it was of a pleasant character, for every now and then a smile played over his expressive features. Graham Hardee had fallen heir to a large estate, and he had possessed every opportunity for mental culture that could be desired. He was not willing to become an idle drone in society because necessity did not compel him to labor, but preferred an active life. He had chosen law as his profession, and had long been a diligent and untiring student. His mind was stored with useful knowledge, and he was sober, industrious and upright. At the same time, he was not one of those morose crea- tures who never wear a smile, and only know how to find fault with the world. He could indulge in laughter on all suitable occasions and, to some extent, believed in the en- 12 THE SUNNY LAND ; joyment of this life. He possessed a keen sense of the ludicrous, and always relished any innocent amusement. Graham was now in his twenty-fourth year, but remain- ed single, notwithstanding Madam Eamor had frequently reported that he had selected ]\Iis3 Jennie "Wilson, a fine, accomplished and wealthy lady of that city, as his part- ner in the joys and sorrows of earth. A number of marriageable young ladies, of an uncertain age, assisted- by designing mothers, had attempted to draw him into an alliance, offensive and defensive, but all their efforts had proved in vain. Some had already expressed their opinion that he Avould continue in " single blessedness" until he became an odious old bachelor, whom the world at large, and especially single ladies on the shady side of twenty, have a perfect right to denounce on all occasions. Graham Hardee yet remained in his office, indulging in a reflective mood, when the door opened and Edward Ash- ton stood in his presence. He welcomed the visitor with evident pleasure, and then said, — " I am glad to see you — where have you been during the last few days ? " "It would be difficult to answer," replied Edward. '*I must have a full account," continued Graham, with a smile. ''Eemember we are under mutual obligations to make full reports to each other." ''You can proceed," said Edward. " I have made but one visit since we last met," replied Graham ; " I then called on Jennie Wilson, whom I found as happy, sweet and charming as mortals could desire." "Let me congratulate you on the pleasant prospect," said Edward. "And further this deponent saith not," continued Graham, and then, after a moment, he added : " You seem low- spirited this evening." " Somewhat grand, gloomy and peculiar." "When did you see the Star Spangled Banner of two cities?" asked Graham, alluding to Pennie Eaymond. A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 13 " Yesterday," replied his friend. " All right?" said Graham, interrogatively. " All wrong," replied Edward, solemnly. "In what way?" asked Graham. Edward now made a statement as to the manner he had been treated by Pennie Eaymond, which is already known to the reader, and when he had concluded, Graham said : " Do you suppose that she confessed her true motives ?" " I cannot say," he replied. " Where is that sandy-haired, extravagantly dressed Norwegian, and most fashionable rival, Hiram Pike ? " "He received his walking papers some weeks ago, and left this citj^ in disgust." "Then he was not the cause of this catastrophe," said Graham, thoughtfully. " I am not surprised at this sud- den termination of the whole affair, for that belle does not possess any more heart than a Yankee wooden nutmeg. You should rejoice that you have escaped a life of misery. Cheer up, ' for there is as good fish in the sea as ever was caught.' " " I have no inclination to fish any more ! " "I suppose not," replied Graham. " But you will soon be in love with some other smiling beauty.^' Edward shook his head, feeling that all hopes of wedded bliss were dead forever. He thought his own case beyond recovery, and believed that he could never again enjoy the transports of sweet and passionate love. " I have concluded to visit the mountains of East Ten- nessee and North Carolina," said Graham. "For what purpose?" "For several reasons," he replied. "It is becoming warm and disagreeable in the city, and I wish to escape this eternal dust, din and confusion. Again, there will probably be considerable sickness in the next two months, and I have no desire to shake off this mortal coil, at present." 14 THE SUNNY LAND ; "Sound premises, and a reasonable deduction," said Edward. "I have an aunt residing near Asheville, North Carolina, whom I desire to visit," continued Graham. " I wish to see that wild country, and the original specimens of human- ity which inhabit it. Now I want you to accompany me." " Nothing would please me more," replied Edward, "but I am not sure I can do so." , " I was called upon this morning," said Graham, " to draw up a legal document, by which I know your employer will soon go out of business." " I am aware of it," replied Edward, " and I am offered a situation by his successor, but I do not intend to accept it, having determined to commence the practice of law." "Have you made any arrangements to do so ?" enquired Graham. " None," he replied. " Then I will make you a proposition," said Graham, seriously. "Accompany me on this tour, and when we return in the fall, we will put our heads together and see what can be done. Here is a good office, law books, and everything an attorney requires, except brain and impu- dence. I have a good practice, which is gradually in- creasing. Now, if you are satisfied to do so, you can commence with me, and we will equally share the profits." Edward willingly accepted this offer, and all the details were soon arranged to their mutual satisfaction. The new firm was to go into existence as soon as they returned from their proposed journey. " Now," said Edward, " we will hide ourselves for a time in the mountains, far from the gay and fashionable world." " I think I will enjoy the rustic simplicity of our new associates," replied Graham. "I am well acquainted with their manners and customs," continued Edward. "I received my education in the midst of the mountains of East Tennessee." A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 15 " I had forgotten," said Graham, " tliat you are a sprig of Maryville College — brought up at the feet of Gamaliel, in the classical shades of that renowned seat of knowl- edge." " It is one of the oldest institutions of learning in the South," added Edward, "and I should like to visit it again." " We can easily do so, as we will pass near that point." " Nothing would please me more," continued Edward. " Then we shall certainly call, so you may have an op- portunity of seeing its venerable walls once more before that war shall come which our prophets and seers predict, for one stone may not then be left upon another." " Our prophets and seers may be correct," said Edward, and then added, solemnly : " The signs are ominous of evil." " It is useless to anticipate trouble," replied Graham, " it is always best to enjoy the present." " Our wise men," said Edward, " tell us that content- ment is the sweetener of life, in all its phases." " I have," said Gi-aham, " witnessed so much of the pride, vanity and ambition, common to the circle in which I move, that I Avish to escape from home and associate with a rustic people." *' You hate society," said Edward. " I see much in it to commend, and much I dislike." "A vain show is, after all, more effective than real merit." " Many lose sight of virtue, knowledge, and intellectual ability," he replied, " and imagine that money alone should render them considerable. They never attempt to do good with the means they possess, and neglect to stamp on their coin the image of the Deity, so that it may circu- late as the merchandise of Heaven. As well might we suppose that the rich paintings, carvings and gilding. 16 THE SUNNY LAND; would render a ship sufficiently strong to bid defiance to the waves, as to value a man according to his wealth." It was late that night when the two friends separated. Edward's spirits had revived, and he began to feel that he might in time forget the past ; live and be happy without the genial smiles of one who had trampled on the warm affections of his heart, A STORY OF THE CRUET^ WAR. 17 CIIAPTEE III. Hiram Pike and the Yankek Parson. Edward Ashton and his friend arrived at Knoxville, provided with ample baggage for the intended journey. Learning that they would not be able to obtain a public conveyance until the next morning, they proceeded to the Lamar House, where they expected to spend the night. Upon entering the gentleman's parlor they found it de- serted; and they sat down and began perusing the daily journals, which at this period possessed unusual in- terest, owing to the approaching Presidential election. , A few minutes afterwards a stranger entered, whose sin- gular appearance immediately attracted their attention. He was probably something more than fifty years of age, and carried in one hand a carpet satchel and held in the other a well-worn umbrella. He was dressed in a plain black suit and wore a white cravat, which indicated that he belonged to the clerical profession. His hair was dark, his lips thick, and a habitual grin marred his features and gave him a repulsive appearance. Such was this specimen of modern theology, hailing from one of the ISTew England States, but then residing in East Tennessee, where he had charge of a small Abolition church, to whom he occasion- ally ministered in holy things, and often instructed in his political doctrines. Another individual, perhaps thirty-five years of age, now entered. He was tall, well-made, and might have been considered handsome. He was dressed with evident 18 THE SUNNY LAND; care, and his whole appearance indicated a man possessing more than usual self-importance. His face was of that peculiar description, that it would have puzzled an expe rienced physiognomist to have decided what were the leading traits of his character. Upon entering he immediately recognized the Rev. Obadiah Stanton, to whom he advanced and extended his hand. The Parson arose with a smile and exclaimed, " Hiram Pike, my dear friend of Kansas notoriety." They sat down together and began conversing in a low tone, which gradually became louder so that many of their words fell on the ears of our two friends, whose presence they seemed to have forgotten. Hiram Pike spoke of certain occurrences in Kansas which were evidently of a secret character — boasted of the services he had performed in that State for the benefit of universal freedom — referred to the Anti-slavery organ- izations of the iS[orth with which he was connected, and stated that he was in the South for the purpose of promo- ting the interests of his party. • The parson then gave an account of his recent visit to the New England States — the conferences he had held with the Beechers, the Chevers, the Garrisons and Parkers of the Korth — the organizations which everywhere ex- isted — the intention to cause a ceaseless agitation of the vexed question — the vast amount of money at their com- mand, and the prospect of soon overthrowing the hated institutions of the South by force, fraud and secret com- binations. In conclusion he exclaimed, " goad them ! — goad them ! — out of the Union, is my motto." '' That is the true policy," replied Hiram Pike. '' The train is already laid, and will be exploded by the approach- ing Presidential election." A few minutes afterwards Hiram arose to his feet, when his eyes fell on the faces of the two young men from Kashville. He stood a moment as if surprised in a base A STORY OP THE CRUEL WAR. 19 act, no doubt fearing an unpleasant exposure, then spoke a few words to the parson in a low tone, after which they walked out of the room, leaving Edward and Graham in peaceable possession of the premises. Such was the origin of the late civil war. Such was the bitter, hostile, and implacable spirit — such the sectional hate, malice, and ill-will— such the dark, infamous and unprincipled measures adopted by Northern fanatics at this early period — for the purpose of dissolving the Union, in order that the institution of slavery might be abolished. It mattered not to these madmen — these monomaniacs wedded to one idea — if the whole land should be deluged in human blood — if civil and religious liberty should be staked and perhaps lost forever — if they could thereby ac- complish their vile, wicked and mischievous purposes. They were willing to exchange the boon of freedom for an abstract idea — barter constitutional liberty for military despotism, and sell this rich inheritance bequeathed to us by our fathers for a. mess of pottage^ provided they could thereby establish negro equality. On the succeeding morning, when these two young men entered the coach for Maryville College, they found that the Eev. Obadiah Stanton had preceded them, and sat with an Abolition journal, reading one of Theodore Parker's bitter tirades against the Southern people — but on their entrance he carefully folded it up and thrust it into his pocket for future reference. Another party now entered the stage coach, who is des- tined to act an important part in our story. He was a little under a medium height, well built and muscular. He was probably about thirty years of age, and wore a plain ordinary suit of gray cassimere. He possessed a round face, a full forehead, and dark hair. A comical expression lurked about his good-humored countenance, and when he spoke, the peculiar brogue of Green Erin's Isle might have been detected. Such was Patrick Megram, an Irishman by birth, but now residing in the new world. 20 THE SUNNY LAND) The Eev. Obadiah Stanton was in every way a represen- tative man of his class. lie was exceedingly inquisitive, and extremely radical — a pure New Englander of the modern galvanized, puritanical, free thinking stock. He was full of ideas common to his own region — ever ready to pry into other people's business, and to force his distasteful dogmas down every person's throat who did not willingly swallow the nauseating dose. He believed that John Brown was a persecuted saint, who died for "righteousness sake," and imagined that his departed soul had been admitted to one of the highest seats of Paradise. He was confident that slave-holders were beyond the reach of pardoning mercy, and held that they were all justly doomed to eternal perdition. He was also a politician of a small calibre, but he made nj) in zeal, what he lacked in knowledge. He had often ha- rangued his little anti-slavery flock on the mongrel doctrines of negro equality, and pointed out to them the wickedness of Southern slavery, which he considered the only sin in the land worthy of his attention. He never failed, in opening the morning service in his church, to pray that the equality of races might be recognized, and to ask the Lord " to break the poor captives' chains and let the African go free." The stage had not proceeded far when the parson fixed his eyes on Patrick Megram, and finally said : "Bound for Maryville ?" " Montvale,'^ replied the Irishman. " From the old country ? " "Swate Ireland," he replied, in his native brogue. " How long have you been in America ?" " Several years, your honor," with a comical gesture. "You live in this State?" " I have for the last twenty-four hours," said Pat. '^ What is your trade ? " " Everything. I can do anything from ditching to writ- ing a love letter." A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 21 " What part of the country are you from ? " " Cincinnati." " Did you settle there when you first came to America? " " No, sir. I landed at Boston, the last place on earth for a white man." "Then went to Cincinnati?" continued the parson. " I did, and found it slightly better than Boston." " So you are on your way to Montvale ? " " I am bound for that place." "For your health?" " For employment." " There is not much chance for laborers in the South," said the parson, forgetful of the fact that wages were much higher in every portion of it, than in his native State. It was evident to all that this Irishman was no simple- ton. The language he used was good with the exception of an occasional phrase peculiar to his race. He bore the parson's critical examination with great composure, and seemed somewhat amused at the mode of cross-examina- tion pursued. He now replied to these interminable se- ries of questions in a comical style which soon silenced the inquisitive parson. The Eev. vStanton next catechised the two remaining passengers to his own satisfaction, and then introduced va- rious questions of a civil, political, and religious nature. Graham Hardee endeavored to avoid a discussion, but they soon joined issue on the higher law, which the parson maintained to be of more authority than Divine revelation. They finally wandered from this point to the equality of races. " We are all of one blood," said the parson ; " and the only superiority we possess over the African arises from mental culture." " What about the complexion ? " asked Graham. " Only the result of the burning sun." " This does not explain the mental and physical differ" ences we know to exist." 22 THE SUNNY LAND; " How do you say these origiDated ? " asked the parson. " I see the fact," replied Graham, " and do not consider the cause material. It has been asserted that our first parents were a bright olive color, and all the human race the same until the flood — that Noah had three sons, Ham, Shem, and Japheth, whose names signify black, red, and white — and that the curse and the blessing pronounced on them respectively were, in the nature of a prophecy, foretelling the future condition of their descendants in all ages, which is now being literally fulfilled, but it is useless to puzzle our brains in order to discover the origin of a well known fact, which any unprejudiced observer must admit. Even the history of the curly-headed race proves them much inferior to our own. They have ever been a low, dull and besotted people, unable to rise in the scale of civilization." " They are our equals, and only require mental culture," continued the parson, vehemently. " You have had free Africans," said Graham, " in the Northern States for a long period. They have had every opportunity to learn from the white race and to make their mark in the world. Amongst them there is not one, except a few of the mixed blood, that possess even ordina- ry intellectual ability." " It is unjust to hold a man in bondage and have the benefit of his labor without compensation," said the parson, dodging the question. " This world is full of injustice," replied Graham. " Men of capital will be served by either white or black, at the least possible expense. Here money is invested in labor and wages are upheld, but in the free States there is a con- stant conflict between capital and labor. Those that control the capital usually gain the ascendency, and crush the poor man in the dust, as they have done in Europe, and are beginning to do in the New England States. There the unfortunate are held in a servile bondage by stern ne- cessity, and are often unable to obtain food and raiment. A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 23 They are oppressed, degraded and reduced to a fearful condition, worse than our slaves, which were stolen from Africa by your money-loving fathers." " The shocking barbarity of slavery," exclaimed the par- son, with a shrug of his shoulders. '' All kinds of servitude and every relation of life is sometimes abused," replied Graham. " They should be set free without delay," said the par- son. " They are a worthless race," replied Graham, " and if the Southern people could be refunded the money invested, they could well afford to set them free — provided they were sent out of the country. They must not be turned loose in our midst. England and France ruined their fairest possessions in the West India Islands by attempting this wild experiment. The two races cannot live together as equals. A conflict w^ould soon spring up between them, which would finally result in a war of extermination." The parson became more and more excited. He talked long and loud of an oppressed people, and held up his hands in pious horror at what he was pleased to call the cruelty of the Southern people. He finally became angry and declared the day would soon come when the Lord would visit the South with fire and sword. " The Yankees instead of the Lord," said Patrick Me- gram, in an under tone. " He will break their yoke and lead them away," con- tinued the parson. " The cowardly spalpeens will steal them," added the Irishman, quietly. This discussion was here cut short by their reaching the end of their journey, when the Eev. Stanton bade his fellow-travellers adieu, never expecting to meet them again. Neither of these parties then suspected how often they would cross each others paths in future years. Maryville College was located in a small village, perhaps remarkable for nothing except its institutions of learning. 24 THE SUNNY LAND) Through a long series of years it had sent forth a continual stream of graduates, some of whom had occupied high po- sitions in society. Unfortunately the able faculty of this College had long been tainted with Abolitionism. ^Notwithstanding it was entirely dependent on the Southern States for patronage, still some teachers had long been retained in it who held these odious views, and so far as possible implanted them in the minds of the students. The young men went out into the world and disseminated these vile doctrines. To this cause, more than any other, ma}'' be traced the anti- slavery sentiments existing in East Tennessee at the be- ginning of the recent war, which finally led to discord, dissensions, and a bloody civil contest through this moun- tainous region. We will not attempt to follow these two young men during the three days they remained at this ancient seat of learning. Graham passed the hours quietly, and Edward found much pleasure in calling on acquaintances, greeting old friends, and visiting familiar scenes never to be forgotten. One evening they listened to a public debate on the pro- posed secession of the Southern States in the event the Eepublican nominee for President should be elected. The discussion proved animating and exciting. The horrors of civil war were portrayed in eloquent language, but perhaps no one present believed that they were then on the eve of that terrible struggle when that beautiful village would be burned — when^that institution of learning would be destroyed, and the whole country devastated by con- tending armies. Only a few months more had passed away when the bloody conflict was inaugurated. The prediction was soon verified that those present would shortly hear " The death shot hissing from afar, The shock — the shout — the groan of war." A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 25 CHAPTEK lY. The Belle of the Mountains. " You deaire employment/' said Edward Ashton, address- ing Patrick Megram. " I do," replied the Irishman: " Can you drive a carriage ? '^ " Try me,'' was Pat's laconic reply. •'We intend to make a journey into North Carolina, over a rough road, for which we have secured a couple of good horses and a strong carriage. We did not intend to employ a driver, but perhaps, we may conclude to do so." " I am your man," replied Pat, with much emphasis. " What has heretofore been your business ? " "Jack of all trades," he replied. "I first landed at Bos- ton where a Yankee hired me to do a little of everything." *'Did you please that gentleman ? " " Och no ! I was a free born Irishman and wouldn't be a nager. He wanted me to stand with my hat under my arm, which didn't suit my fancy. So we parted for good. I tried to get another situation, but failed because I had no recommendation. The heathenites they are ; they treat a white man worse than a nager." " You got another situation ? " " Yes, I found a Yankee, who said he only wanted me to do light work. Such work," added Pat, with a rueful face, " he worked me half to death, grumbled and growled, until one day I accidentally planted my fist between his eyes and left him bellowing like a dying calf in its last agony." 2 26 THE SUNNY LAND ; '• I then set out for Ohio," he continued, " and stopped in the country. Here I worked for an old codger for six months, when he chated me out of half my wages. I then went to Cincinnati and got a situation at the Spencer House, where I followed lifting trjinks about the size of an ordinary schooner. A few weeks afterward, I met with a rich gentleman who said he wanted me for his confiden- tial servant. His name was Hiram Pike." "Hiram Pike," rej)eated Edward, with surprise. " That was his name." " You liked him ? " " As a blubbering brat loves a flogging." Edward now told the Irishman to come to their room that afternoon, and left him alone to his reflections. He was prompt at the aj^pointed hour, and engaged to accompany them on the proposed journey into Korth Car- olina. Edward and his friend had been invited to a party which they designed attending before leaving ]\Iaryville College, but as one night would intervene before the appointed time, they concluded that they would try their horses, by making a trip to Montvale Springs, a well known summer resort, only nine miles from this place. They accordingly set out early in the morning, travel- ling through a broken region, and soon reached " the foun- tain of health/' located at the foot of the Chilhowee moun- tains. Montvale was finely improved, and, at a distance, pre- sented the appearance of a neat village, in the centre of which was one mammoth hotel. The enclosure around these buildings, embracing many acres, was laid ofl^ in walks and roads like an extensive city park, and the whole space between each division was covered with luxuriant grass, flowers, shrubs, and shade trees, of every variety, common to this mountainous re- gion. A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 27 Here they found a gay throng of people, representing almost every State in the South, who were spending a few weeks of the sultry summer in this cool retreat. Some had left home to escape the heated atmosphere of the Gulf States; some were here on account of the valuable medici- nal properties of the water, but probably far more were in search of amusement and recreation. Who could blame them for seekino; these refreshino; shades when the ther- mometer ranged at about ninety-eight degrees — when the sun was pouring down his intense rays as if concentrated in one burning focus, when every one might have realized the well known lines of Thompson, " Now comes the glory in the Summer months With light and heat refulgent." As soon as the shades of evening began to gather around Montvale a large number of ladies and gentlemen dressed in the most approved style, made their appearance. As the last rays of the setting sun rested on the neighboring mountain, they were promenading in every direction smi- ling, talking and laughing as if strangers to the cares and vexations of life. Edward and his friend did not recognize among them a single familiar face, and notwithstanding they were yet in their native State they felt as strangers in a strange land. At a later hour the ball room was thrown open, to which they soon afterwards repaired, but they could find no ac- quaintance mingling in the mazes of the fascinating dance. They watched this scene of animated beauty and listened to the strains of soul-stirring music until they grew weary of the enchantment. That night they debated whether they would return to Maryville on the following morning or remain until the afternoon for the purpose of visiting the neighboring heights of the Chilhowee Mountains, from which they could have a splendid view of the adjacent country. Graham was perfectly indifi'erent as to how they should 28 THE SUNNY LAND; employ themselves during the coming day, and Edward was already weary of the gay throng of strangers whom he never expected to meet again. He loved to see nature in all her matchless beauty, but he knew it would re- quire considerable labor to ascend the mountain, and as the heat would probably be oppressive, he was inclined to forego the pleasure. It is, indeed, wonderful to ob- serve what trifling incidents sometimes change the whole current of our lives, and prove the origin of much hap- piness or misery. Edward knew not when he was con- sidering the propriety of remaining a few hours longer at Montvale, how much depended on this decision, nor how deep it would affect the remainder of his life. They finally concluded to ascend the mountain, and ear- ly on the following morning they set out on the proposed journey, taking with them Patrick Megram, who was ex- pected at least, to furnish some amusement. They began the ascent in high glee and were making rapid progress up the side of the mountain, when Patrick Megram, who was a little in advance, suddenly halted, and then stooped down, as if making a critical examination of some incomprehensible object. A moment afterward he exclaimed — "Howly Saint Peter! The plague take your black musky skin, curled up like a hemp-rope. Look at that sar- pent, with wide spread jaws — the green eyed " Here Pat's words were cut short, and he sprang high into the air, in order to avoid the fangs of a rattlesnake. He was ignorant of their mode of striking, and did not apprehend any danger would arise from the lazy, motion- less serpent, until it opened its mouth and sprang towards him with the usual rattle. "A jumping snake," said Pat, standing at a respectful distance, " with bells on the tail — full of tricks — a regu- lar down Easter — a live Yankee — that won't fight a fair fight." A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 29 Edward and Graham now came forward and found a large rattlesnake, which they instantly dispatched, to the Irishman's great satisfaction. They all set out again and soon arrived at the desired locality, a vast ledge of rocks on the summit of the moun- tain, from which point they had a magnificent view of the surrounding landscape. Beneath their feet lay the splen- did improvements at Montvale Springs, and near it they could perceive a sparkling stream which seemed to gush from the mountain side, and then go meandering through a fertile valley, lined with verdant gardens, then clothed in the rich robes of summer. Farms, farm houses and luxuriant fields, dotted the wide spread region as far as human eye could reach. A few miles to the South they could see the majestic Tennessee river, where it burst through the mountains on which they stood, and then rolled on through rich and variegated landscapes. In the distance they could observe the chain of hills which marked the course of the Holston river, and beyond these arose the blue heads of the Cumberland mountains. Edward dearly loved to view the works of nature. He gazed with wonder and admiration on this magnificent panorama. He was entranced with this lovely prospect. He seemed to have invoked all the power of the ideal, and clothed these rich scenery of nature in the gaudy imagery of a lofty imagination. *' Who can paint Like nature ? can imagination boast Amid its gay creation, hues like hers? Or can it mix with that matchless skill." Again he turned to the South where he beheld a vast bed of mountains, presenting a scene full of grandeur and sublimity. Here one rugged peak towered in magnifi- cence above another, and high above them all he could perceive the "Blue Smoky" — the boundary line between two great States, whose majestic summit wreathed in mis- ty clouds, seemed to pierce the heavens. 30 THE SUNNY LAND; A company of ladies and gentlemen, evidently visitors from Montvale, now aj^proached the ledge of rocks on which these two young men were seated. "How beautiful! " said Edward, with his eyes fixed on a young lady walking in advance of her companions. It is imj^ossible to give an adequate description of the fair creature' who called forth these words. She did not appear to have passed her sixteenth summer, and was a perfect model of feminine beauty. " Grace was in her step, heaven ia her eye, And in every gesture dignity and love." If you please, picture in your imagination the loveliest of her sex — one of the fairest flowers of the sunny South — with dark hair, flowing in graceful ringlets — with rosy cheeks then slightly flushed with exercise — with dark melting eyes, peculiar to that genial clime, sparkling with intelligence, with a form as perfect as the model " Greek Slave," with every feminine charm calculated to captivate the heart of man, and then you may imperfectly sketch the lovely creature who called forth the exclama- tion — "how beautiful." The advancing group halted some yards from our two friends, but this young lady, apparently not satisfied with the view from this position, walked on up the mountain and stood alone, evidently fascinated with the loveliness of the distant landscapes and grandeur of the surrounding scenery. After a few moments her eyes fell on these young men, when, like a startled deer, she began to re- trace her steps. *'Who can it be? " said Edward, in a low tone. " I cannot imagine," replied Graham. " A lovely creature," continued Edward. " As fair as the ' belle of two cities.' " '■' She is the ' belle of the mountains,' " exclaimed Ed- ward. "An excellent name," replied Graham. This young lady walked some distance towards her A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 31 friends, then turned to the edge of the huge mass of rocks for the purpose of gathering some wild flowers which over- hung a fearful chasm. In order to reach these she step- ped on a stone which she supposed to be firmly imbedded in the mountain brow. This instantly gave way and went rolling, thundering and crashing down the abrupt preci- pice, and at the same moment this fair girl disappeared from the view of those above. All rushed to the fatal spot where they stood appalled at the scene they witnessed. She had fallen a considera- ble distance, and lodged against some small stunted bushes overhanging a deep abyss. These frail shrubs to which she was clinging for life were liable every moment to give way, when she would be inevitably dashed to pieces on the rocks far beneath. There was no mode by which the young lady could be reached unless by climbing down the almost perpendicular rock, and none of her friends appeared willing to try the hazardous enterprise. Eopes, poles, ladders, and numberless articles not to be had, were suggested to the minds of those present. Ed- ward saw at a glance 'that something must be done imme- diately, as she would certainly perish, and resolved at the imminent risk of his own life to make an effort to save her from a terrible death. Seizing hold of a bush which overhung the cliff, he sprang down the deep chasm, trust- ing that he could sustain himself until he was able to plant his feet on some rocks beneath. He had mistaken the strength of this frail support which proved brittle, and instantly gave way. It was all in vain that he endeavor- ed to stay himself against the almost perpendicular wall which he clinched a moment, and then, after a brief strug- gle to avoid a terrible fate, fell headlong down the fearful precipice. 32 THE SUNNY LAND : CHAPTEE y. A Thunder Storm in the Mountains. A cry arose from those above, when they saw Edward fall, for they believed that he was lost beyond all hope of re- covery ; but he did not reach the last great precipice from whence he must have made a fearful plunge into a deep abyss. Fortunately he struck against some projecting rocks, and sprang to his feet, injured, bruised, and bleed- ing. The next moment he dragged the lady from her per- ilous position, and bore her fainting form up the crag- gy rocks, until he came to a point beyond which he could not go. Then turning across the cliff, he advanced a short distance to a steep bluff, which he could not pass with his precious burden. Patrick Megram, perhaps the least excited of the spec- tators, now appeared with some poles to bridge the re- maining chasm, and soon afterward Edward bore the faint- ing " Belle of the Mountains " to a place of safety, around which gathered a large number of individuals, rejoicing that she had made such a narrow escape from a sudden death. Edward had been injured by the fall, and began to feel excessively faint. He sat down, thinking he would re- cover in a few moments, and Graham, who did not supjDOse his friend to be seriously injured, now turned his attention to the young lady who lay partially unconscious. He learned that no one present knew her name, and that those who had accompanied her were then absent. Some A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 33 one exclaimed, "here they come," and on looking up the hill, he saw Hiram Pike and a middle aged lady advanc- ing, evidently much alarmed at what occurred. They had been engaged in a tete-a-tete beyond the brow of the hill, and had just heard of the accident. Graham only had time to observe that the aged lady did not appear to be the mother of the suffering girl, and to notice Pat Megram making a most rueful face at Hi- ram Pike, when his attention was called to his friend, who asked to be assisted to a cool spring, which he had seen in a deep ravine a short distance below. Supported by his friends, Edward succeeded in reaching this refreshing fountain, and thus was separated from the "Belle of the' Mountains," before she had sufficiently recovered to recog- nize her deliverer. When Edward had somewhat recovered, Graham said : ^' The lady you rescued, has returned to Montvale." " Who is she ? " he asked eagerly. " We could not ascertain her name." " Did you not hear it," he continued, addressing Patrick Megram. "Not a bit of it," he said, "and every soul I met was asking the same question." And then added, " She is in bad company, I would say." " Why ? " asked Edward in a feeble tone. "Didn't ye see that Yankee spalpeen, Hiram Pike." " I did not notice any one," said Edward. *' You might have seen the bandy-shanked pafowl strut- ting around in his fine clothes." " You know him well ? " "Know him like a book. And I could whisper some- thing in his ear that would make him look like a shaking ghost." Edward soon felt sufficiently recovered to walk back to Montvale. When they had arrived at this point, they found they only had sufficient time to reach Mary- 2* 34 THE SUNNY LAND; ville, wh^re they had promised to spend the evening, so they obtained some refreshments without delay, and tlien proceeded on their journey immediately. "Farewell," thought Edward, " forever farewell to the beautiful ' Belle of the Mountains.' We will not meet again ; but her matchless face will never be forgotten." They arrived at Maryville, spent a few pleasant hours with their social friends, and on the succeeding morning set out on the proposed expedition. They first travelled slowly through the rural districts of East Tennessee, en- joying the romantic scenery they everywhere witnessed in this rugged country. Perhaps no two young men wan- dering about in search of pleasure, were ever better satis- fied. Something amusing occurred each day to break the monotony of their journey, and at times when they were about to grow dull, Pat was sure to commit some blun- der of a most ludicrous character, well calculated to pro- voke mirth. They finally reached the great bed of the mountains, which separates East Tennessee and Xorth Carolina, and were now following the French Broad Eiver — a majestic stream which flows sweeping, dashing, and foaming amid these everlasting hills. As they advanced through this broken region, they found the road upon which they were travelling, had been formed in many places, by building up stones along the edge of the water, against which the dirt and sand had gradually accumulated. One day they came to the wildest and yet the grandest scenery they had ever beheld. The fall in the river was immense, and its waters came roaring, foaming, and seeth- ing in angry whirlpools over eternal beds of granite. On either side arose majestic hills to a dizzy height, pre- senting a magnificent spectacle, such as the poet and art- ist would contemplate with inexpressible delight. They now pursued their way along the foot of a towering preci- pice where the road had been hewn through a solid rock, A STORY OP THE CRUEL WAR. 35 and here the mountain arose so perpendicular that it ac- tually seemed to overhang their heads. All along its un- even surface, were immense beds of projecting granite, wliich assumed every fantastic shape and hue imaginable, apparently the work of nature in her wildest and most whimsical mood. They followed this narrow road dug out of the side of the hill on the bank of the river, for some distance, when they came to a deep gorge in the mountain. Here they found a few rods of level land, a cool refreshing spring, and alighted to rest their horses and partake of a lunch with which they were provided. They had only time to complete their repast, when their attention was called to an approaching carriage, travelling in the same direction they had been pursuing, which halted a nhort distance from where they were seated, and an aged gentleman, presenting a venerable appearance, first alighted from the vehicle, followed by a middle aged lady, and lastly came a beautiful girl, who advanced a few steps, and stood gazing with i^pture on the matchless glory of the surrounding mountains. Edward remained motionless, with his eyes fixed on that lovely young lady, then in the first bloom of youth, who exercised over him a peculiar and resistless charm. He neither saw or observed any thing but this one attrac- tive object which rivetted every power and faculty of his soul. "Edward," exclaimed Graham, but his voice fell on list- less ears. " Edward, I say Edward," he continued, but his words were yet unheeded. Graham smiled, and after a few moments added : " Oh ! the power, the fascination of woman. I do not believe you could at present see a moun- tain or hear an earthquake." "It is the 'Belle of the Mountains,' " said Edward. " All right," said Graham, " but do not look her out of countenance," and immediately he broke forth into a fit of laughter. 36 THE SUNNY LAND; " A perfect angel," continued Edward. *' A wild mountain dear^' said Graham, much amused. " I wish I had an introduction to that fairy," exclaimed Edward. " ISTonsense ! perfect nonsense," replied his companion. " Go and tell her you heroically snatched her from the jaws of the grim monster death, and in your own arms bore her to a place of safety. Nothing more would be needed, for that was certainly a very close acquaintance of an embracing nature." " She would not recognize me as the same person," said Edward gravely. " Then you might accidentally run against her, or acci- dentally cause some accident to occur, for which you must apologize, then commence a conversation. Having thus made a good beginning, stick to her like a poor man's plaster, and improve the opportunity." " They are coming to this spring," said Edward, excited with pleasant emotions. " Don't do any rash act," continued Graham merrily, and then added, " I will not let them disturb your repose." " They will think that you are laughing at them," said Edward in a reproving tone. The advancing party soon reached the spring, when Edward, observing they had left their cup behind, advan- ced and tendered them one with which he was provided. This led to a few common place remarks, and this young man hoped this conversation so auspiciously commenced, would be continued, but a peal of thunder from a cloud, partially screened from view by the neighboring moun- tain, warned them that a storm was approaching. " We must go," said the aged gentleman. '•' It would not be pleasant to be overtaken by a thunder gust such as sometimes occurs in this wild region." The ladies politely thanked Edward for his kindness, and entered their carriage, which immediately set out towards A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 37 the Warm Springs, a noted watering place located in the mountains of Western North Carolina, and they were soon afterwards followed by these young men, who wore also travelling in the same direction. " So you did not learn any thing about that beauty," said Graham. " When strangers meet here in the ultima thule of creation, they should tell their names and con- sider themselves acquainted, and any one failing to do so, should be cross-examined after the fashion of the Rev. Obadiah Stanton. If you had been wise you would have learned a lesson from that pumping old Puritan which would have enabled you to gain all the desired information. Edward who was not in a talkative mood, replied in mono- syllables, and they both became silent. They were now travelling along a narrow road, sometimes down at the brink «f the river, and then again gradually winding up the summits of the rugged hills. The storm continued to approach. The air was dark- ened by black tempestuous clouds. Thick mists were curling along the brow of the mountain. The lightnings flashed and the thunder burst forth in deafening peals. The fearful tempest threatened every moment to break forth in all the grandeur and sublimity peculiar to the sun- ny South. Edward gazed on these warring elements a few moments, and then repeated the well known lines of Byron : " Leaps the live thunder ; not from one lone cloud, But every mountain now hath found a tongue, And Jura answers through her misty shroud, Back to joyous Alps, who calls to her aloud." Here he was interrupted by the echoing thunders which broke forth with redoubled fury, but after a few moments he continued : *' Hark ! hark ! deep sounds, and deeper still, Are howling from the mountain's bosom : There's not a breath of wind upon the hill, Yet quivers every leaf and droops every blossom, Earth groans as if beneath a heavy load." 38 THE SUNNY LAND; Then came a blinding flash of lightning and a deafen- ing peal of thunder which caused the mountains to quake and tremble. The horses made a sudden plunge forward, and G-raham fearing that Patrick Megram could not man- age them, took the reins and checked them in a few mo- ments. At the same time Edward discovered that it was with great difficulty the driver of the carriage, then a few paces in front, could control his frightened animals. They were now on a narrow road, high up on the moun- tain side, winding around a dizzy precipice where, if over- turned, they must inevitably be tumbled into the French Broad River, whose angry waters rolled far beneath. At the same moment they reached the most elevated point, there came a sharp flash of lightning, and the two horses dashed forward in spite of check lines, throwing the wheels of the carriage on the brink of the fearfu^abyss. The driver was able to partially check these frantic animals, which began rearing and prancing near the edge of the embankment. Edward saw that in a few moments more the carriage, horses, and strangers Avould be over- turned on this dizzy height, where they could not hope to escape from immediate death. He instantly sprang down, leaving G-raham and Pat behind, rushed forward, seized the reins and turned the horses away from the deep abyss, in time to save them all from destruction. The winds burst forth with intense fury. The fright- ened inmates alighted, and the restless horses were re- moved. The storm was now so fierce that the vehicle was in great danger of being blown over, and to increase their perplexity, the rain began to descend. Edward, aided by the driver, pushed the carriage forward under the shelter of some projecting rocks, which would shield it from the furious winds, and then assisted the strangers to re-enter it, so they might be protected from the fury of the ele- ments. The roar of the tempest was so great that he could not hear their thanks, but the look of gratitude A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 39 which the "Belle of the Mountains" bestowed on him as he assisted her back to her seat, was sufficient to repay him for all his labors. Graham drew up under the same shelter, and halted in the rear of the strangers, and Edward now had time to ob- serve the grandeur and sublimity of a thunder storm in the mountains. The rain poured down in torrents. They seemed to be enveloped in impenetrable clouds, where the lightnings flashed and the thunders rolled unceasingly, whilst the furious winds increased the wild uproar of the warring elements. The tempest long continued to rage with inimitable grandeur, and so great was the noise, Ed- ward could not converse with the strangers. When the storm had in some degree abated, he observed that the driver was endeavorino; to a2:ain harness the horses to the carriage, and seeing that he could not manage them him- self, he went forward and held them with a firm hand, until the traces had been fastened. He naturally supposed that these strangers were bound for the " Warm Springs," the nearest point on that road where they could obtain a night's lodging ; but so great was his desire to know who they were, and where they resided, he would have asked some questions, but he had no opportunity^ to do so, for the driver instantly sprang up to his seat, and the wild impatient steeds dashed away. At the same time the face of the aged gentleman appear- ed at the window of the carriage, but Edward could not hear his words, thanking him for his timely assistance. Another face — a face wearing a sweet smile — a face never to be forgotten, was likewise presented. Her lips moved, but her voice was drowned by the rattle of the wheels. The young men followed soon afterwards, but saw nothing more of the strangers. They finally reached the Warm Springs, but did not find them at that place. Ed- 40 THE SUNNY LAND; ward began to think that the fates were aganst him, and that he mi^ht never acj-ain behold "the Belle of the Moun- tains." " She is yet an unknown and nameless beauty," he murmured, " who smiled on me a moment, and now per- haps has disap2)eared forever." A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 41 CHAPTEK YI. The Young Men Arrive at their Destination. Edward and Graham, not finding the strangers, as they had expected, walked out to the Warm Sj)ring, where they saw the water boiling hot from the earth. " This is strange," said Edward, feeling the temperature of the water. " Can you account for it ?" *' Fire under it," replied Graham, with a smile. " If that be true, this must be a dangerous region." " Geologists," said Graham, " insist that the centre of the earth is a burning mass of liquid matter, and repre- sent that the ground on which we tread is a thin shell spread over it." " Only a theory," replied Edward, "and if correct, this shell must be extremely thin in this neighborhood." Graham now seeing Pat walking past, called him to the spring, a vast pool of water, over which a bathing house had been constructed. " What do you think of that," asked Graham, pointing to the smoking water. Pat surveyed it a moment, and then thrust his hand into the water. " I am thinking," said the Irishman, " they are about ready to slaughter their hogs." Then walking around the building with evident curiosity, he returned and ad- ded : *' Faith ! I cannot see the Furnace." " It boils up hot out of the ground," said Edward. 42 THE SUNNY LAND; " Don't I know," said Pat, " the water is hated in that building." " Indeed ; it is not." " Fool ! Pat Megram if you can," continued the Irish- man, "with the idea of hot water biling out the earth." They left Pat searching for the furnace, and returned to the hotel, where there was a considerable number of visitors from various parts of the Union, who were spend- ing a few weeks at this place for health or pleasure. — Finding that all were strangers, and being wearied with their journey, they retired at an early hour. Graham soon fell into a sound sleep, but Edward was not so fortu- nate, and long lay awake, musing on the present, past and future. The happy days of childhood, pleasant scenes of youth and joys, never to be forgotten, passed in review. Then followed his first troubles — the death of his parents — the loss of their proj)erty, and decease of his loved sis- ter. Here he remembered, with some bitterness, the trials he had endured when first brought into contact with a cold and unfeeling world, especially after he had been sud- denly reduced from affluence to poverty. Then came the first golden dream of love, when Pennie Eaymond was the idol of his heart, but those bright visions that once enchanted his soul, had faded forever, as the passing sum- mer cloud disappears from the heavens, leaving only a faint tinge upon the sky. Her beauty had grown dim and her once loved image was now recalled with a sad mix- ture of pleasure and pain. It was especially the adventures of the past day that robbed Edward of his usual rest. A new image had ap- peared unbidden in his breast, and his excited imagination now painted afresh a likeness possessing inexpressible charms. Again and again he endeavored to drive away the enraptured vision, but still it would return in all its matchless beauty. " Why ? " he mentally exclaimed, "should I be dreaming of- that lovely creature who ac- A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 43 cidentally crossed my path. I' know not her history, her name, from whence she came, or where she is gone. We met as strangers and as strangers we parted. Should we be thrown together again, and should she prove all that heart could desire, she would probably be nothing to me." Still he could not dismiss the subject. Every fea- ture of her smiling face, every expression of her sparkling eyes, and every movement of her matchless form, con- tinued to pass in review. Her image was deeply engraven on his mind, and he could not avoid the fond wish that he might be permitted to see her again under more auspicious circumstances. Finally he fell asleep, dreaming of the " Belle of the Mountains," and knew no more until he heard the voice of his friend calling on him to arise and prepare for their intended journey. These young men set out again early in the morning, but travelled slowly on account of the intense heat of the day. About noon they desired to rest their wearied horses, and halted in a dense forest, proposing to remain for some time in this delightful spot. Patrick Megram had a passion for walking sticks, and seeing a bush growing at the road "side, of a species of wood easily polished, he cut it down with his knife, without having observed a large hornet's nest attached to its limbs. " Jehosaphat ! " exclaimed Pat, as he struck both hands to his forehead, where one of the hornet's had buried its poisonous sting. "Jerusalem!" continued the Irishman, as he crushed another that had alighted on his ear. "Howly Saint Peter ! " he cried, as one planted its venom in his neck. " Cuss the boss flies," burst forth from his lips, " the villainous insects how they bite. The vile spitfires," he yelled, striking right and left at the swarming hornets. Patrick now gathered up the bush he had cut down, thinking he could use it as a weapon of defence, but this 44 THE SUNNY LAND; only brought out an additional force of hornets, which threatened to completely use up the unfortunate Irish- man. Edward had repeatedly called on Pat to make his es- cape, but he was not a running character, and meant to fight it out with his unscrupulous assailants, "on that line, even if it required all summer." They now came rather fast for the poor Irishman, and he began to retreat, final- ly leaving the enemy in peaceable possession of the field. They immediately proceeded to the next house, where Bome remedies for Pat's numerous stings were obtained, which soon assuaged the pain, and rendered him much more comfortable. It was near sunset when they arrived in the vicinity of Ashville, by which time the Irishman's wounds were con- siderably swollen, but not very painful. As they proceed- ed up a long ascent, they found a negro boy, as black as ebony, driving some cattle in the same direction they were travelling. " Whose fields are these," asked Graham, point- ing to some finely cultivated lands. " Dis," replied the boy, " be Massa Nick TVoodfin's," and then spreading out both his arms, and at the same time displaying a considerable amount of ivory, he continued, " all dem fields on both sides be his'n." " Indeed ! " said Graham, "he must be rich as a Jew ?'' " He am dat." " What is your name," asked Graham. " Pomp dey call me." " Pomp or Pompey, now tell me who belongs to you ? " "Massa Nick Woodfin," replied ebony, who had not ob- served the manner the question had been stated, which announcement was received with much applause. Patrick Megram had been very quiet ever since his con- flict with the hornets, and was evidently not in a good humor. He had not spoken for a long time, when Gra- ham interrupted his reverie. A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 45 " You say," he began, " that you were once in the ser- vice of Hiram Pike. Did you find him a clever gentle- man ?" " Whew ! " whistled Pat in a most comical fashion, " clever ye say — the filthy badger! " " Bid he not treat you well ? " " The pig-nosed skunk," continued Pat, with an impres- sive gesture. " Was he not kind to you ?" " Hiram Pike kind ; would ye think so — that snaking murtherin' villain ! " " You are severe ! Is he not a gentleman ? " " Gentleman ! " repeated Pat, with a peculiar grimace ; "the swindling thafe — the bloody robber," he continued, with great indignation. " What did he do that so enraged you ? " " He tried to kick me down stairs because Miss Pennie Raymond wouldn't love the blatherin' vagabond." " Was he guilty of any crime ? " inquired Graham. ''Better ask what it was he didn't do! The dead tell no tales!" and then continued, in a low tone, "Pat Me- gram knows how to hold his tongue." The Irishman relaxed into silence, after having darkly hinted at Hiram Pike's infamous deeds, and steadily re- fused to be more explicit. Soon afterwards they arrived at a hotel in Ashville, where they designed remaining until morning, and then to proceed at once to their final destina- tion. Joseph Newell, Graham's uncle by marriage, was at this time near sixty years of age. He was tall, well built, pos- sessed of a fine open countenance and a genial flow of spirits, notusuallyobservedinmenof his advanced years. His wife was perhaps near the same age, and yet bore traces of her former beauty. Her appearance indicated a woman of a noble disposition, possessing much kindness and great be- nevolence. 46 THE SUNNY LAND; Mr. Xewell was not cursed with either great wealth or abject poverty. He had a valuable homestead, known as " Laurel Hill/' beautifully located in a romantic region on the banks of the French Broad Eiver, and a sufficient number of slaves to cultivate his lands, over whom he pre- sided like an ancient patriarch, and treated them with uni- form kindness. He was a man void of selfishness, who seemed to live for the good of others, and would at any time incommode himself in order to accommodate his friends and neighbors. He had two sons and one daughter, who were all mar- ried and settled in the world ; and for this reason the vis- itors anticipated a dull time at " Laural Hill," but in this they were much mistaken. They were cordially received by the aged couple, and everything was brought into requi- sition, which was calculated to add to their comfort. Guests were invited, dinners given, and gay assemblages followed each other in quick succession. Many pleasant acquaint- ances were formed with the people residing in that vicinity, who were generally refined, courteous and accomplished. Hunting and fishing parties, and all kinds of rural sports, were added to the programme, for the sake of variety, and these jovial scenes were continued until our friends grew weary of pleasure. They were surfeited with never ceas- ing gaieties provided for their entertainment, and began to think of leaving " Laurel Hill," for some more retired locality. At the close of a long summer day, some weeks after they had arrived at Mr. JSTe well's, the two friends sat in the piazza, quietly conversing. " This is a lovely spot," said Edward, at the same time surveying the surrounding landscapes. "Magnificent ! " replied Graham, lifting his eyes to the blue mountains which arose in the distance, towering far above the neio-hborino- hills. " Who would leave such a home to dwell amid the dust, din and confusion of the city? A STORY OF TUE CRUEL WAR. 47 A man, blessed with a charming wife, would certainly be happy in such a lovely residence." " It would not require the charm of this beautiful loca- tion," replied Edward, "to render a man happy with one he truly loved. You remember the lines : * Oh ! woman, whose form and whose soul Are the spell and the light of each path we pursue, Tho' sunned in the tropics, or chilled in the poles, If woman be there — there is happiness too.' " " Yery touching, and easily appreciated by any man in love; but, changing the subject, 1 think we must shortly seek another base of operations, for if we continue here much longer, hunting, fishing, and eating rich dinners, we will become perfectly demoralized." " We thought this a barbarous region when we came to it," said Edward, " but we find the people refined." " Unusually intelligent." " Kind, and given to hospitality." " Honest, moral, and upright." " We have met ladies here who would make some of our dashing city belles ashamed of themselves ; but we are w^andering from the question I proposed for our consider- ation. I learn that a party of ladies and gentlemen, resid- ing in this neighborhood, intend visiting Little Eiver Falls, where they will remain one night. Now, I propose that we accompany them to that point, and then proceed alone to Caesar's Head, on the Blue Eidge. We can stay there a short time, and then return to this place ; and after a few more days of luxurious ease, at " Laurel Hill," w^e will set out for Nashville." "All right," said Edward. "Then it is settled," continued Graham ; " but I will make one proviso for your benefit. Should we again meet ' the Belle of the Mountains,' you are at liberty to remain in her presence until another sad accident shall throw her into your arms." 48 THE SUNNY LAND; " What about Pat Megram?" enquired Edward. " He has been ruaking himself so useful on the farm, that uncle would like to retain his services. We have no more use for him than a wagon has for a fifth wheel, as we are both capable of driving our own carriage." " Then," said Edward, " we should leave him here where he will have a good home, be well paid and kindly treated — blessings which the land of boastful civilization and free labor was rarely ever known to bestow on the poor Irishman." A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 49 CHAPTEE YII. Chola, or Lena's Mountain Home. There is a clear and crystal stream known as " Mills River " which has its source in the high and broken regions of North Carolina. From the lofty Blue Ridge range of mountains it flows rapidly into the plains beneath, and then rolls on through a rich and variegated country until it finally mingles its sparkling waters with the French Broad River. Fruitful fields, charming cottages, splendid country seats and enchanting landscapes mark its mean- dering course through this wild and romantic region. At the period of which we write, there might have been seen standing on a considerable eminence, overlooking the clear waters of Mills River, a mansion house of no ordina- ry character, which appeared to have been recently con- structed, and might have been justly pronounced a model of architectural beauty. A large enclosure immediately around the dwelling was neatly laid off in gravelled walks iined with flowers and shrubbery, and the whole was adorned by a great variety of shade trees. Adjoining this was an extensive flower garden such as no stranger would have expected to find in a broken, isolated and mountain- ous region. On a neighboring eminence some distance from the mansion house stood some neatly whitewashed cotta- ges, occupied by a number of slaves then a happy and con- tented people, having but few wants and fewer cares. Fol- lowing the course of the river, as far as eye could reach were level and fertile fields then in a high state of cultiva- 3 50 THE SUNNY LAND; tion, bounded on one side by that sparkling stream, and on the other by raajestic hills, clothed in richest ver- dure. In the opposite direction, a mountain arose abruptly far above the adjoining valley, known as " Mount Chola," or "Lofty Hill," a term derived from the aborigines of the country, and by which name this residence had long been distinguished. It was in- the beginning of " dark and shadowy autumn," we would introduce the reader into this Eden home. How lovely then appeared this earthly paradise — when the surrounding hills wore their most beautiful hues, com- bining the purple, gray, and gold, in perfect symmetry — when the trees were groaning with luscious fruit — when the neighboring mountains smiled in matchless drapery — when not a cloud marked the blue expanse of the heavens, except here and there a white fleecy mist floating like " A silent dream upon the sky, A breathless soul of sleepy quietude." It was at the close of a long summer day, when a fair young lady sat in a vine-clad arbor, near the residence we have described. She was watching the last rays of the setting sun, falling on the summit of " Mount Chola " and gilding its craggy heights with golden beams, presenting a magnificent scene, from whence the poet might have drawn deep inspiration and have formed the richest conceptions of beauty. There she remained motionless — reflecting, perhaps dreaming, of happiness never to be realized. She possessed a charming face, expressive of inward purity. It was the loved but nameless one — " the belle of the mountains.'^ Another now approached, almost as young, as tender, as fair — who seemed born to dispute with her the prize of beauty. She had perhaps, seen her eighteenth summer, and was about the ordinary height of her sex. Her fea- tures were regular, her complexion fair, and her eyes a dark blue, expressing intellectual fire, and at the same A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 51 time possessing that sweet and languishing loveliness pe- culiar to that sunny clime. "She was like A dream of poetry that may not be Written or told — exceedingly beautiful." Such was Yenie Ardin, accounted fair, intellectual and accomplished. " Cousin Lena," she said, " are you all alone ? " " Yes, alone — dreaming." "Dreaming, cousin ? " she continued, as she sat down in a rustic seat; "and pray, what has set you to dreaming?" " JSTothing sj)ecial, Yenie," she replied, and then added : " I am glad you did not remain any longer in Columbia. If you had, I should have indulged in many more waking dreams." " Lena, you have not yet told me the particulars of your journey to East Tennessee." " ^o, I have had no opportunity since your arrival. It was both a pleasant and unpleasant tour. I met a gentle- man at Knoxville," she added abruptly, " whom you will remember." " Who ? " inquired Yenie. " Hiram Pike, the same who once visited us at Colum- bia." " Oh, yes ; I remember that gentleman very well. He appeared to admire you exceedingly at that time." "He called on me," continued Lena, "and was very at- tentive whilst I remained in Knoxville, which was only a short time. After I went to Montvale he came there, as he declared, expressly to pay me a visit, but I can as- sure you his opportunities were somewhat limited. He accompanied Mrs. Duree and myself in our trip to the summit of Chilhome, where I came so near losing my life." " You have not the remotest idea who rescued you on that occasion ? " 52 THE SUNNY LAND; " I have not, for be was not to be seen wben I bad recov- ered. Tbey told me tbat be bad been injured in bis efforts to save my Ufe, and tbat bis friends bad taken bim to tbe hoteb Soon after we bad arrived at Montvale, papa went out in searcb of tbe stranger, but not knowing bis name, be was not successful. Hiram Pike came in soon afterwards and said tbat be bad seen tbe same party leave tbat water- ing place in a private conveyance — tbat tbeir names were not registered at tbe botel, and tbat be tbougbt tbey were countrymen residing somewbere in tbat vicinity." Tbe young ladies were silent a few moments, busy witb tbeir own tbougbts, wben Lena continued — •' I am inclined to tbink tbat I recently met tbe same gentleman." " Wbere ? " '' You remember tbat I told you of a tbunder-storm in tbe mountains, wben a young man came to our assistance. "We first met at tbe spring before tbe storm began, and it appeared like a dream to me tbat I bad before seen bis face. Tben afterwards, during tbe storm, wben I bad more time to observe bis features, I was inclined to tbink be was tbe person wbo rescued me from deatb. I spoke to Mrs. Duree in regard to it, but sbe declared tbat tbere was not tbe slightest resemblance. Sbe yet insists tbat tbe man wbo saved my life was bard-featured, and looked like a rougb backwoodsman, and Hiram Pike gave me tbe same description of bis person. Tbe gentleman we met in tbe mountains was very handsome, but notwithstanding this discrepancy, I have not changed my opinion." " How did it happen that you were separated from tbat young man in tbe mountains, without learning even bis name?" " During the storm we were all frightened, and the roar of the tempest was so great, it was impossible to converse. Finding we would be very late in reaching our destination, we started before tbe rain bad ceased. As soon as tbe A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 53 horses were harnessed to the carriage, they dashed away, giving us no oj^portunity. I then thought these young men would put up where we did, or spend the night at the Warm Springs, in the same neighborhood. If they stop- ped at this watering-place, they must have set out very early next morning." " Would you know that young man should you acciden- tally meet?" " I certainly would," said Lena, solemnly, " I will never forget his appearance." " Love at first sight," said Yenie, smiling. " No, not love," replied Lena seriously, in a low tone, "but only the grateful remembrance of a stranger who saved me from a fearful death. This should not be called love." " Love," said Yenie, " has been defined ' two souls with a single thought.' " " Two hearts that beat as one," continued Lena, " which would not be applicable to the present case." Twilight had imperceptibly gathered around the cous- ins as they sat conversing, and they now arose and walked towards the mansion hand in hand, reposing in each other that implicit confidence which youthful hearts are accustomed to yield before they are chilled by contact with a cold, calculating and deceitful world. They were united by ties of true and disinterested friendship, " High flavored bliss of Gods to man how rare — On earth how lost." Some years previous to the period of which we write, James Eston, a wealthy Southern planter, owning a large amount of cotton lands in South Carolina, had purchased "Chola," intending to make it his summer residence. He had remained single until he was somewhat advanced in years, when he married a lady, in every way his equal, but after a short period of happiness she died, leaving Le- na, then a small girl, and her niece, Yenie Ardin, an or- 54 THE SUNNY LAND; phan, about two years older than her cousin. He placed them both under the care of their aunt, who resided in Columbia, with whom they continued until her death, which had recently occurred. About two months previous to this time, Mr. Eston had resolved to take his daughter and niece to " Chola," which he had determined to make his permanent home. As Ye- nie wished to visit some distant relatives in South Caroli- na before going to this country seat, she was left behind, with the understanding she would rejoin them during the summer. In accordance with this agreement, she had just returned to "Chola," and is again with her cousin, from whom she had never before been separated. Soon after Mr. Eston had arrived at this country seat, accompanied by his daughter, he saw that she was likely to grow weary of this quiet home during the absence of her almost inseparable companion, and concluded to take her on a visit to East Tennessee. This journey had already been made as we have seen, and they had only reached home a few days before the arrival of Yenie Ardin. Thus the two cousins had met at " Chola," which was hereafter to be their permanent residence, where they expected to find much peace, quietude and hajDpiness. There is yet another inmate of this mansion, destined to act an important part in our story, during the bloody war about to be inaugurated. Many years previous to this period, Thomas Duree and his wife had removed from Massachusetts to South Carolina. Mr. Eston employed this man as overseer as long as he lived, and after his death his widow being left without any property, applied to him for assistance. Having recently purchased " Cho- la," and knowing that she was a good manager, he pro- posed that she should go to that country seat and reside there during his absence. She gladly accepted this offer, telling him she would certainly prove an excellent house- keeper, and she had already been in this place more than A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 55 two years, ^hc was a keen, shrewd and managing wo- man — with only a moderate education, but she spoke flu- ently, and was blessed with easy manners, which enabled her to pass in any circle of society. She possessed strong prejudices, and clung to all preconceived opinions with great tenacity, but she never allowed these to interfere with her private interests. She would, when she deemed it safe to do so, denounce the institution of slavery in the bitterest terms, but when slaves were placed under her charge, she proved a hard task-master. Sometimes she would grow impatient with the servants, bang, cuff, abuse, and call them a worthless, vagabond race, for a time for- getful of her much loved doctrines of negro equality. Mr. Eston knowing that his daughter was young and inexperienced as to travelling, had taken Mrs. Duree with them on the recent trip to East Tennessee. Here his house- keej)er met with Hiram Pike, with whom she soon be- came unusually intimate, to the great surprise of Mr. Es- ton and his daughter, who could not imagine what motives could induce this friendly alliance. It was impossible that they should understand the deep laid schemes they were then considering, for the accomplishment of their selfish purposes. Mr. Eston had remained single after the death of his wife, and was ever contented with his lot. He had wealth in abundance and did not desire more. He had overseers on his plantations upon whose honesty and fidelity he could rely. He possessed this lovely mountain home — a man- aging housekeeper in the person of Mrs. Duree, and a large number of well treated slaves, who gave him no trouble. He had with him a niece whom he loved, and a beautiful and affectionate daughter, the pride and joy of his life. He now imagined that the remainder of his years would pass away in peace and quietude, for he knew not that the sad day was approaching when men would devour each other like ferocious beasts — when professed 56 THE SUNNY LAND J Christians would forget the great law of love, and even ministers of the gospel, " wearing the livery of heaven to serve the devil," would stand with Bible, halter and torch and urge their hearers to join in splendid murder. A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 57 CHAPTEE YIII. Hiram Pike in the Queen City of the West. Hiram Pike sat alone in a large, well furnished and comfortable apartment, of his own bachelor establishment. A table stood at his side, upon which lay pen, ink, and pa- per, indicating that he had been recently writing. A bowie knife and a revolver were within his reach, for which he did not seem to have an immediate use. A copy of Help- er's Impending Crisis, the last number of Harper's Weekly, and a glass of brandy, all alike subtle poisons for either body or mind, completed the inventory of popular articles. A letter which he had just finished lay oj)en before him, which read as follows . " I arrived in Cincinnati three days ago, and find I can- not visit your place as early as I had anticipated. I trust you will watch over my interests, and not permit any one to take advantage of my absence. I learned after leaving Montvale that those two gentlemen (you know who) did not return to Nashville, but started on a tour throuo-h the mountains. You will not probably hear of them again, but should they accidentally reach your vicinity, you must take the young rascals under your special care. Eemember what I told you at Montvale in regard to Mr. Ashton, that he has no fortune and is engaged to a lady in this city. The other matters we will discuss when we meet again." Hiram Pike folded up this note and addressed it to Mrs. Adeline Duree. A smile now broke over his face, as if an- ticipating some much desired triumph, but gradually it 3* 58 THE SUNNY LAND; passed away and was succeeded by a clouded brow. Some- thing unpleasant evidently troubled his conscience and stirred the depths of his spirit. A dark scowl gathered over his face, and marred his whole countenance. Some ghastly image suddenly appeared. He threw up his hands as if to drive away tho unwelcome spectre, and, at the same time, a half suppressed oath burst from his lips. Hiram Pike was religious, after a certain Pharisaical fashion. He believed in as much of Divine Revelation as suited his purposes, and obeyed as many of its precepts as was absolutely necessary in order to retain his position in society. Some years previous he had joined a fashionable church, and made what he considered a great sacrifice by punctually attending morning service on every Sabbath day. He was also liberal, at all times when he was certain his charitable deeds would be made public, but on all other occasions the poor might have called on him in vain for assistance. He soon became weary of spending one whole hour everv Sabbath, listenins; to unwelcome truths, and bescan to think of giving uj) his professions, when a few more of the pretended "virgins without oil in their lamps," and, probably, without even lamps, proposed that they should build a new church edifice, where they could worship ac- cording to their own pleasure. Hiram went into this measure with all his heart, and, when the new house had been completed, they were happy in obtaining a suitable Pastor, in the person of Absalom Blubber, a young minis- ter fresh from the New Eno-land hot-bed of fanaticism. This apostle of the modern School, being profoundly ig- norant of the Spiritual Kingdom, turned his attention to temporal matters. He began to both pray and preach Republicanism, which thoroughly aroused Hiram, who went to work in the good cause with as much zeal as Paul set out from Jerusalem to Damascus, breathing destruc- tion against all who professed Christ. A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 59 Absalom Blubber began a series of sermons on the sin of slavery, interspersed with philippics against the South, and blasphemous prayers for the destruction of the peo- ple who held bondsmen. He waxed greater and greater in the eyes of ignorant fanatics, and his fame went abroad throughout all the North Country. Thousands flocked to hear these political tirades, evincing a spirit as bitter, re- vengeful, and cruel, as that which inflamed the breast of Alva, the implacable Spaniard, when he deluged all Neth- erlands with the blood of innocent victims. Hiram Pike remained seated at the table, as we have described, apparently lost in his own unpleasant reflections until a servant entered and humbly announced that a lady wished to see the master of the house. " Who the deuce is it ? " enquired Hiram, crustily. *' I don't know," said the servant. " Don't know, — you slab-sided heathen, why did you not ask ? " "I did," said the servant, meekly, " but she wouldn't tell her name." "Was she well-dressed ? " " She didn't look much," replied the servant. " She was mighty rough." Hiram Pike now muttered a curse on all new servants, with the mental reflection he could never get one to re- main in his house that was worth a copper. He then se- cured his revolver and bowie knife about his person, and went down, wondering what woman had called to see him in his bachelor establishment. He soon found himself standing face to face with a hard featured, middle aged woman, wearing a slouch sun-bonnet, and dressed in a shabby apparel. " What do you want ? " exclaimed the indignant Hiram, in a harsh tone. " To talk a little with you, Mr. Pike." " With me ? What about ? " 60 THE SUNNY LAND; " Sit dovrn, Mr. Pike," said the woman, calmly, throwing herself into the nearest chair, and adding, " I'll help my- self to a chair. IS'ow to business.'* " What business ? " said Hiram, with excessive dignity. " My name is Nell Tucker," continued the woman. " What," exclaimed Hiram, with an oath, " have I to do withlSTell Tucker?" " Nothing ! " said the incorrigible woman ; " but Nell Tucker has something to do with you." " Proceed," said Hiram, becoming more and more en- raged. " Don't hurry me," replied Nell. " I always do business 10 suit my own notion." " I have a notion," burst forth from Hiram's lips, *'to send you out of my house." " Not quite so fast," she continued ; and after a moment added : "Don't be in such a mortal flurry. I guess there be no one dying, that you couldn't wait a bit on an ole 'oman like myself." Hiram, seeing no other way, bit his lips and sat down to listen, endeavoring to choke down his rage at the woman's insolence, and then said : " Now, your business — quick." " It won't be so mighty pleasant, that you need be so impatient to hear it," continued the woman. " I guess you would rather not hear, if you could git your choice." Nell Tucker now ceased speaking, and seemed to be re- flecting as to the best mode of making an attack on her adversary. She was about to proceed again, when Hiram, exclaimed : " If you haven't got anything to say you will please take that door, before I call a servant and send you into the streets." " Turn me out, if you dare," said Nell, pointing at him one of her long bony fingers. " What do you mean, you infernal old hag ? Did you come here to insult me in my own house ? " A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 61 " Hush ! " hissed the woman. " Don't call me no names, or I will " She did not complete the sentence, but she drew her fin- gers around her neck and made the motion of tying a knot, which Hiram well understood and instantly began to tremble. " What do you intend by that," he asked, nervously. "I guess you minds of being in Kansas and seeing an old man and his poor innocent daughter, who died — you know how, and so do I." Hiram sprang to his feet, appalled at the idea of this woman possessing a secret he had hoped was locked up forever in his own breast, but after a moment he sank back into his chair without uttering a word. Nell Tucker sat quietly observing the effect of her words, until Hiram said : " You want money." " Money ! that's it," replied the implacable woman, with a peculiar chuckle. Then followed a long conversa- tion of a more amicable character. Propositions were made, the terms debated, and finally, a bargain concluded, by which Nell Tucker received three hundred dollars, and, on her part, promised to keep -a certain secret from her most intimate friends. ********* Two hours afterwards, Hiram was dressed with unusual care, and stood before a costly mirror, surveying himself with evident satisfaction. " To-night," he murmured, half aloud, " I am to have an answer to my suit. To-night Pennie Eaymond may promise to be mine ! To-night the proud ' Belle of Two Cities ' becomes my afl&anced, or we part forever. It must be a positive yes, or an eternal farewell." Leaving this individual, cogitating upon his probable success, let us precede him to the residence of August Eay- mond, a large brown mansion on one of the most fashion- 62 THE SUNNY LAND J able streets of the " Queen City." There, in a large a^^art- ment, furnished in the most extravagant manner, sat Pen- nie Raymond, resting her elbovr on a finely-carved rose- wood table, apparently lost in her own reflections, which were evidently not of a pleasant nature. Let us follow the train of the thoughts which were then passing through her mind. " Mama says Mr. Pike is a nice gentleman, but he does not suit my taste. I would not like pike for breakfast, pike for dinner, pike for supper. I am sure I could not endure Pike all the time. Then there is Mr. Wharfinger, an old wharf-rat, supposed to have murdered his first wife. His money won't buy me at present. These are my only wealthy suitors. What am I to do? My father is about to fail, and says that I must marry rich, or we will all be poor. I am to consider myself in the nature of a mort- gaged property, for the purpose of raising money. Heigho ! I wish I had secured Edward Ashton, the only man I ever loved, but I have lost him forever. I must choose some one immediately. Hiram Pike is to have an answ,er on this evening. Perhaps I might live with him in splendid misery." Again her mind wandered back to Edward Ashton. She recalled his unchangeable kindness — his warm affection — his noble actions — his cherished words, and a tear stole unbidden down her lovely cheek. A deep sigh heaved her breast, and she exclaimed aloud, " lost ! lost ! lost to me forever ! " A servant now entered and announced that Hiram Pike was in the parlor below. Her whole manner instantly changed. The tear was hastily wiped away, and a smile passed over her face. She surveyed herself a few moments before the mirror, and, satisfied with this inspection, rap- idly descended to the parlor, and appeared in the presence of the devoted Hiram Pike. Well did the "Belle of Two Cities" act the part she A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 63 had chosen. She had long been holding Hiram at a distance by assuming a cold and haughty air, but now she had de- termined to adopt new tactics. She talked, laughed, and smiled on the man she really despised. Hiram was pleased with her innocent wiles, and labored hard to act the agree- able. He could not withstand the fascinations of beauty, and was charmed, captivated, bewildered, and ready to kneel at her feet. He adored her more than ever — con- sidered her the height of perfection, and repeated to him- self, "Thou hast no faults, or I no faults can see." He did not for one moment suppose that he was woo- in o- a beauty without fortune. He knew her father held a large amount of property, and that he was reputed T^ealthy. Had he known the fact that August Eaymond was then indebted to a heavy amount, he would have paused in the midst of his happy anticipations, for he was naturally penurious, loved money, and had long since re- solved that he would marry no one who did not possess the property qualification. It was the reported wealth of this family that had first induced him to seek an alli- ance with it, thinking he would thereby greatly increase his wealth, and, at the same time, have the honor of win- ning the " Belle of Two Cities." Hiram had been promised an answer to his suit on this nio-ht. The manner he had been received satisfied him it would be favorable, yet it was necessary that he go through that form sometimes termed " popping the question," an awkward business, a universal custom, established by the usages of good society. He proved himself equal to the task. He talked eloquently of his undying love, whilst the fair Pennie blushed, smiled, and blushed again. To- gether they falsely acknowledged a mutual flame, and false- ly swore eternal constancy. Hiram Pike left the residence of Mr. Eaymond in a hap- py mood. To win the hand of this acknowledged beauty 64 THE SUNNY LAND J was his crowning ambition. He was not capable of that warm and enduring affection wliich knows no change, yet he was not insensible of her numerous charms. Her sup- posed wealth and the pride of winning one so much ad- mired, had alone led him to kneel at the feet of the proud '* Belle of Two cities." In the midst of all his happiness, he could not forget another belle he had met in the Sunny- South, whom, he was constrained to admit, was in every way her superior. Had he then known the actual wealth of the beautiful Lena Esten, he would have gladly ex- changed the " Belle of Two Cities" for the ''Belle of the Mountains," and demonstrated the truthfulness of the poet's words — " All love may be expelled by other love, As poisons are by poisons." A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 65 CHAPTEE IX. The Nameless Beauty. It was on a bright summer day when a considerable number of ladies and gentlemen set out to visit the "Lit- tle Eiver Falls." Perhaps no pleasure party ever enjoyed themselves better on a similar occasion. They were all full of life, and ready to make the most of every amusing circumstance. Early in the afternoon they reached the hotel in the neighborhood of the falls. They halted in front of it, and, instead of alighting, called for the landlord. In a few moments a low, thick set, and dull specimen of hu- manity, made his appearance, to whom Graham said : "AYe wish to remain with you to-night, but as we will have sufficient time, we propose to first visit the Falls." The landlord bowed, took off his hat, rubbed his fore- head, but said nothing. "How far is it to the Falls ?" asked Graham. " If you will walk over that mountain," said the land- lord, in a slow, measured tone, as he pointed to a neigh- boring hill, " it is only a short mile. If you prefer to ride around it, you must travel two long miles." " Walk over that mountain," repeated Graham, lifting his eyes to its summit. " We certainly choose to ride. You will please direct us so we can find the way." " You must have a guide," said the landlord, " Where can we obtain one ? " he inquired. " Absalom will go with you." 66 THE SUNNY LAND J " All right," said Graham, " let us have the guide." The landlord stood motionless gazing at the visitors, probably estimating the profits of the night's entertain- ment. The whole party began to grow impatient at the delay, yet the curious proprietor remained speechless. After Graham had waited some time for the appearance of the promised guide, he exclaimed : " The guide ! where is the guide ? " " There," cried the landlord, pointing to a small, diminu- tive negro boy, who stood awaiting orders. " What ! that child ? " said Graham, with evident sur- prise. " That's Absalom ! " thundered out the landlord, some- what provoked at the stupidity of his visitors. The boy was so small that no one had observed him until he was brought into notice by the proprietor, and the merry young men of the party instantly greeted the curly-headed stripling with peals of laughter, which were greatly increased by some one singing out : " Absalom ! Oh Absalom ! my son Absalom ! " They now set out for the Falls. They proceeded on an excellent turnpike a short distance and then turned into a miserable mountain road, and in less than a half hour, came to a place that was imjDassable. Here they alight- ed, secured their horses, and walked down a steep moun- tain side, clothed with heavy forests, from which they soon emerged, and were then in full view of the " Lower Falls,'' a perfect Niagara on a small scale. The entire waters of the river poured over a high precipice and fell a long dis- tance in one unbroken sheet, foaming, dashing and roar- ing on the rocks beneath. The whole party stood for some time in silence, watch- ing the cataract, and then proceeded up the steep moun- tain to what is known as the '' Upper Falls," where the water ran over a smooth inclined rock, for the distance of several hundred feet. Meeting with no obstructions, it A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 67 was almost noiseless in its descent, and so clear was the water and so swilt the current, that the whole stream dwindled into insignificance long before it reached the base. An hour afterwards they set out for the hotel, where they proposed spending the night. They had reached the brow of the hill, which overlooked the turnpike road leading through the mountains into South Carolina, when Edward suddenly exclaimed, as he pointed to a passing vehicle : " Look at that carriage ! I see the 'Belle of the Moun- tains in it?'" Graham smiled at his friend's earnestness, and replied : " Perhaps you were mistaken." " I know the carriage," said Edward, " the horses, the aged gentleman, and the ' Belle of the Mountains.' I can- not be deceived." "They are bound for South Carolina," said Graham, " and will be in that State in less than two hours." "It is wonderful," continued Edward, " how that fair creature continually crosses my path. This is the third time she has appeared unexpectedly and passed away. Once I bore her sweet form in my arms, and twice have I saved her from instant death, but she vet remains a nameless stranger." " So far," replied Graham, " fate has darkly frowned be- tween you and the object of your affections." " I must submit to my destiny," said Edward. "What fates impose, that men must needs abide, It beats not to resist both wind and tide." They soon reached the hotel, and after tea they all mingled in rich scenes of amusement. Edward joined in all the sports until a late hour, when he sat down alone a silent spectator of many happy faces. It is well, he thought, that they are able to enjoy the morning of life, for the pleasures of youth will soon be succeeded by the 68 THE SUNNY LAND; cares of riper years. Heaven's choicest blessings are now showered on them in great profusion, but the rude blasts of adversity are sure to follow. Kow they are rev- elling in the spring tide of youth, but summer, autumn, and cold, bleak and dreary winter, Avill come with its nip- ping frosts and chilling blasts. He remained quiet and thoughtful for a few moments, and then repeated to himself the following lines : " The charm of youth at once is seen and past, And nature says ' they are too sweet to last ;' So blooms the rose and so the blushing maid, Be gay, too soon the flowers of spring will fade." On the following morning all the excursionists returned home, except Edward and Graham, who proceeded to " Caesar's Head." They pursued their way along a good turnpike road through a vast bed of mountains, and in the afternoon reached the summit of the Blue Eidge, form- ing the boundary line between North and South Carolina, and from which point they would begin to descend to- wards the level country that lay south of this range of lofty hills. " We are now in the State of South Carolina," said Ed- ward. " A game State," replied Graham. " I have always ad- mired her pluck. When Congress undertook to impose on her a high protective tariff for the benefit of Northern manufacturers, she bid defiance to ' all the powers that be.' " " She was successful in her nullification," said Edward, '' notwithstanding the often repeated assertion that Presi- dent Jackson swore by the Eternal he would execute the unjust, unconstitutional, and odious law. Henry Clay's compromise, so called, was no compromise, for it granted South Carolina all she demanded. Congress was wrong and had to succumb." " The New England politicians," continued Graham, "yet talk of this noble act as treason. They are entirely A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 69 unmindful of those of their own misdeeds. They forget Shay's rebellion in Massachusetts, the odious Hartford Convention and the whiskey insurrection in Pennsylvania. They do not consider that certain laws of Congress aro now virtually nullified in every Northern State." " The motes in their own eyes," said Edward, "prevent them from seeing clearl}'"." They now came to a vast ledge of rocks projecting from the mountain's brow, known as " Ca3sar's Head." They instantly concluded they would have a view of this noted place, of which they had heard so much, before des- cending to the hotel, some distance below; and having se- cured their horses, they walked out on a level with the road, and stood on the verge of a stupendous precipice. " "What a glorious sight," exclaimed Edward, as he gazed into the deep abyss, where he could see the top of lofty trees far beneath his feet ; then lifting his eyes to catch the beauties of the wide-spread scenery, he continued : " What a lovely land, clothed in majestic forests, and dotted over with extensive plantations." To the east and the west, the everlasting mountains reared their towery peaks as far as human eye could reach, before him lay the level country, and far off in the dis- tance he could trace the outlines of Greenville, whose cupolas and spires were then glittering in the beams of the declining sun. Graham passed on down the side of the mountain, leav- ing his companion alone, who sat down and began to muse on these gorgeous works of nature. This lovely .pano- rama was congenial to his tastes, fascinated his spirit and stirred the depths of his soul. To him these stupendous hills, these dizzy heights, these smiling landscapes, had a peculiar charm, and spoke in a living language that filled his heart with pleasure. He was enraptured, entranced, for «' Where rose the mountains, there to him were friends, Where stood the everlasting hills was home." 70 THE SUNNY LAND) Mingled voices now fell on his ears. He arose to his feet, and saw an advancing party of ladies and gentlemen. They halted a short distance below, and stood gazing into the wild abyss, as if unconscious of his presence. A moment afterwards Edward saw a young lady leave this group of visitors, and walk towards him with a hesi- tating step, as if half inclined to return to her compan- ions. He instantly recognized her graceful form and ex- pressive features. It was the " Belle of the Mountains " — the unknown stranger, the nameless beauty, the ideal of his heart, the bright morning star of his existence, the centre of all his hopes of earthly bliss. It would be impossible to analyze this young man's feel- ings at this critical moment. He was certainly in a con- dition to realize the truth expressed by Cowley, " A mighty pain to love it is.'* The " Belle of the Mountains " now came forward, with a smile on her face and a flush on her cheeks, and said, in a low, sweet and musical voice : " Excuse me ; but I thought I recognized you as " She ceased speaking, hesitated, blushed, and was evi- dently at a loss how to proceed. She could find no words to complete the sentence, and remained silent. Edward stood, with burning face, feeling at once both happy and miserable. The enchanting fairy of the moun- tains was in his presence, yet he had no words of welcome. He saw the necessity of speaking, but his tongue had lost its power of giving utterance to his thoughts. " I believe we once met," continued the young lady, in touching simplicity. ""We have," said Edward, "under circumstances that I did not even have the pleasure of hearing your name." Again the rosy hue deepened on the cheeks of the "Belle of the Mountains," at the thought of introducing herself to this handsome stranger, but after a moment she said : A STORY OP THE CRUEL WAR. 71 " Lena Eston is my name." '' Mine is Edward Ashton." A smile broke over each of their faces, at the novelty of this introduction, as they stood there on the summit of " Caesar's Head," but it was no time to discuss rules of etiquette, and Lena continued : " I believe you once were instrumental in saving my own and my father's life, for which we have never had an opportunity of expressing our gratitude." "During a thunder storm?" "We were then returning from Montvale Springs," she said, and then added abruptly, " did you ever visit that place?" " Once," replied Edward. " I think I met you there.'* " You felt my arm," thought Edward, but he only said aloud, " perhaps you did." " On Chilhowee mountain," she contined. Edward told her he was the person she supposed him to be, and that he saw her fall from the precipice. " Then you have twice saved my life ! " she exclaimed, as she extended her hand towards the young man, who, perhaps, gave it a stronger pressure than so short an ac- quaintance would justify. Graham now returned and was duly introduced to Miss Esten. A few moments afterwards they were joined by the remainder of the visitors, who proved to be polite, so- cial and refined. Last of all, Graham Hardee stood before Yenie Ardin. He was pleased with her manners, attracted by her beauty, and soon became deeply interested in a conversation, dur- ing which she proved that she was unusually intelligent and accomplished. An hour afterwards, all the party had wandered off to other portions of the mountain brow, leaving Graham and Yenie alone. He saw that she was beautiful, and felt 72 THE SUNNY LAND; that there was a magic in her sparkling eyes, but he never dreamed that he would love her as he loved no other. He was careless as to danger, and vainly imagined that he was able to withstand every charm. Here they remained awaiting the return of their friends, who had ascended a neighboring eminence, and they grad- ually became silent as they sat surveying the surrounding scenery. The sun was then sinking behind the western hills, and casting his last setting rays over unnumbered mountains that reared their blue heads in these eternal solitudes of nature. " A lovely prospect," said Yenie, as she gazed at the distant mountains. "Magnificent," replied Graham. "Full of inspiration," she continued. G-raham was about to speak again, when his eyes fell on her soul-lit face, now sparkling with fresh animation. He forbore to interrupt her contemplations and his words died away on his lips. There he stood in silence, watch- ing her countenance now lighted up with pleasant emo- tions called forth by the beauty, grandeur and sublimity of the distant hills spread out before them in all their matchless glory, and the sudden conviction entered his mind that she might win his affections. " No ; it must not, it cannot, it shall not be," he men- tally exclaimed, "for another justly claims my undivided heart." Again he considered that Yenie was yet a stranger — that he was ignorant of her history, and that like himself, she might have vowed to love another. He knew not that he was then treading on the verge of a fearful preci- pice, and that he was about to be entangled in the meshes of love. Even at that moment he found himself reflect- ing, that if they had met in past years, that if they had lived in the same village or dwelt by neighboring streams, that they might have been more to each other than friends. Even now he might have exclaimed : A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 73 " 'Tis second life ; it grows in the soul, Warms every vein and beats in every pulse, I feel it here ; my resolution melts." " Are you dreaming," he asked, thereby breaking a long silence. " Only thinking," she replied. " Of the joys and pleasures of life," he continued. " And of its sorrows," she added. It was well that Edward, Lena, and some of their friends now returned, and interrupted the conversation which was beginning to grow sentimental. It gave Graham time for reflection, and enabled him to school his wandering heart and to return to his first allegiance. 74 THE SUNNY LAND; CHAPTEE X. Courtship's Smiling Days. Two weeks passed away at "Cfesar's Head" — two weeks full of pleasure — two weeks of unalloyed happiness. A small circle of friends, who had recently met as. strangers, now mingled as kindred spirits, and were united by many hallowed associations so indellibly impressed upon their minds, that they could never be forgotten. Together they planned excursions, rode out for exercise, or wandered over the surrounding mountains, each happy in the pres- ent, and unmindful of the future. If there was an exception in this pleasant group of friends, it was G-raham Hardee. Sometimes he was low spirited, but then again he was the life of their amuse- ments. Yenie observed his changeable moods with her usual quick perception, but did not suspicion that she was, in any way, the innocent cause. She soon learned that by a little exertion on her part, she co.uld arouse him from his fits of abstraction, and rarely ever permitted him to wear a sad countenance. " These are the charming agencies of love Whose misery delights." One day Edward and Graham joined a hunting party, leaving the ladies to enjoy themselves without their assis- tance. Lena Eston and her cousin were together as usual, and spent a few hours in pleasant conversation, after which they sat a long time in silence. Yenie was first to interrupt her cousin's reverie. A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 75 "How," she inquired, "are we to sjDend this afternoon." " I do not know," replied Lena. " The 'Belle of the Mountains,'" continued Yenie, with a smile, " should be able to devise ways and means." "Why not the ' Flower of the Mountains?' " Yenie blushed at this reference to a name Graham had given her on the previous day. "I do not like that title," she said. "Flowers only bloom a short season and then pass away ; so may we and all we love," she added solemnly. " Our fondest hopes are first to fade," replied Lena. " I sometimes wish I could withdraw the curtain which hides futurity, and read my destiny," continued Yenie. "I would not like to know my fate," replied Lena. " It would certainly not increase our happiness," said her friend. "Listen," continued Lena, "to Dryden," and taking a volume from the table she read — *' Too curious man, why dost thou seek to know Events which good or ill, foreknown are woe." " That says ma/i," exclaimed Yenie, interrupting her cousin ; and then continued : " Our sex possesses more curiosity, and are excusable for attempting to pry into the future ; but proceed." Lena then concluded with the lines — " Even joys foreseen give pleasing hope no room And griefs assured are felt before they come." "Suppose," said Yenie, "we call on Deb Mathers and hear our fortunes. They say she is a perfect old witch." " I do not believe in such nonsense," replied Lena. "We read of witches in the Bible," continued Yenie, with a smile, " and the good people of New England burned a number more. Perhaps Deb, the prophetess, is an- other." 76 THE SUNNY LAND; " I will go with you for the sake of amusement," said Lena. " We can be ready in ten minutes," added Yenie, and without further debate, they began to prepare for their journey. Many years previous to this period, Deb Mathers — Deb, the witch, or Deb, the mountain prophetess, as she was generally known, had resided in Boston, the hub of the universe, where she had done a thriving business at fortune-telling. A wealthy nabob, of the radical school of New England piety, set her up in a fine establishment, but managed in the end, to swindle her out of the most of the proceeds. She then opened a new house, and by shedding additional light on this supposed city of modern light, she soon accumulated a few hundred dollars. She finally grew weary of this location, and found her way into the moun- tains of Carolina. Pleased with the romantic beauty of this region, she purchased a few acres of broken lands, and had a small dwelling erected. Here she lived alone com- pletely isolated from the remainder of the world. Compar- atively little was known of her by her neighbors, but as she pretended to be able to reveal future events, the ignorant regarded her as possessing supernatural powers. The ra- vine in which she resided, at the foot of a towering moun- tain, was reported to be haunted. It was generally be- lieved that ghosts were often seen stalking about her abode, and such fearful incidents were related, that at this period even the boldest sportsman would avoid "Deb's hollow" after the shades of night had gathered over the neighbor- ing hills. Yenie and her cousin having once passed the rude dwelling of Deb, the prophetess, imagined it was no great distance from " Caesar's Head," and supposed they could follow the mountain path to it without difiiculty. The afternoon was considerably advanced when they set out on their journey. They followed an excellent turnpike some dis- A STORY OP THE CRUEL WAR. 77 tance, then turned to the right and pursued a narrow path that lay along a small stream, which was overhung by a thick growth of laurel, and overshadowed by a lofty mountain. " What,'^ said Yenie, " would we do if we should lose our way in this wild region/' " Oh ! do not talk about it," replied Lena. " Or wake up a rattlesnake ! ^' " Don't name it," cried Lena, " for it makes the cold chills run over me to think of it." " Or meet with a bear, and be pursued by a pack of hun- gry wolves ! " " Don't speak of them," said Lena, in an imploring tone. They walked on in silence through this dreary spot, each secretly wishing they had never heard of Deb, the prophetess, and they had not advanced much farther, when they were startled by a sudden peal of thunder. They hastened forward, and soon reached a point from which they could see a stormy cloud curling along the brow of the adjacent mountain. It began to grow dark. The storm seemed about to burst forth in ruthless grandeur. It was a terrible thought to these young ladies to be thus exposed to a furious tem- pest, when all alone and unprotected. " Suppose we return," said Lena, with a troubled coun- tenance. Yenie looked at the lowering heavens, and then replied ; " We would be overtaken by the storm before we could reach the hotel. We must be near the witch's home. I think we should proceed as fast as possible." They now walked on, hoping yet to escape, and soon reached the cheerless dwelling of the mountain Sibyl, who bade them enter with a coarse, screaking and harsh voice. They did as invited with trembling steps, and a moment afterwards stood in the presence of Deb Mathers, who motioned them to be seated, and carelessly turned away, as if she had no visitors to entertain. 78 THE SUNNY LAND ] " I think we are about to have a storm," said Yenie. The old Sibyl, without deigning to reply, quietly sat down at a window from whence she had a fine view of the stormy clouds, and gazed at the angry heavens, which then presented a grand and magnificent spectacle. A deep awe seemed to rest upon her coarse and haggard fea- tures, and she finally broke forth as if communing with her own spirit, apparently unconscious that others were present : " The winds will roar, the lightnings will flash, and thunderbolts will shake the everlasting hills." She had scarcely uttered these words, when there came a blinding flash of lightning, accompanied by a loud peal of thunder, which seemed to re-echo from every hill and mountain gorge. The moment the last notes of thunder had ceased, the Sibyl continued : " Ah ! I beheld the vivid sheet of fire as it flashed over that craggy steep. Now the mountains groan and rivers of water are streaming down the deep ravines." The two cousins sat in silence, ready to sink with ter- ror. The roar of the terrific storm without — the echo of successive peals of thunder — the clash of the warring ele- ments — above all this, a strange being, supposed to pos- sess supernatural powers — all combined to make them tremble with indescribable fear. Again the Sibyl spoke : " The fiends are battling in the clouds. They hurl their fiery darts . Listen ! the heavens groan." Thus the " Mountain Prophetess " continued to rave, until the storm began to abate, when she quietly turned from the window and surveyed her frightened visitors. After a few moments she said, addressing Yenie, "You wish to know your future ? " She did not give the startled girl time to reply, but pro- ceeded with her enchantments, muttering to herself some wild and incoherent words. Finally she appeared to have received a message from the world of Infernal Spirits, and continued — A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 79 " You were born under a propitious star. Your only trouble has been the loss of some friends. You love and are loved in return. This is the beginning of sorrow. A pale but beautiful blonde intervenes. You will endure much trouble. You will shed tears — many bitter tears. I see blood ! blood ! human blood ! " *'Say no more," exclaimed Yenie, in wild accents, "I cannot bear it." The Sibyl continued, without regarding her terror — " Yes, I see it all ; the man you love lies helpless, bleed- ing." Again Yenie begged the woman to cease her pretended revelations, and she replied in a milder tone — "Mark my words, you will see much trouble, and be blessed with much happiness." The Sibyl was silent a few moments, when she turned to Lena and said : " You have been reared like a tender plant, protected from the rude blasts of this world, but a season of trouble approaches. A woman — your professed friend, is a bitter enemy. Few are the tears you have shed, but the day will come when no one can give you comfort. A wide gulf will separate you from one you love. That man you adore will see many dreary hours, and his path will be strewn with dead bodies ! " " Do not tell me more," exclaimed Lena, springing to her feet, trembling at the horrors revealed, and in order to put an end to the exciting scene, she turned away and walked to the window. She was now alarmed to see that it was already beginning to grow dark. " Yenie," she said, " it is almost night." "Almost," repeated her cousin, " what shall we do?" "It is yet raining," added Lena. " Oh, it is terrible," exclaimed Yenie, " no one at the hotel knows where we are." " Oh, horror ! shall we be compelled to remain here," cried Lena, more and more alarmed. 80 THE SUNNY LAND ; They now eat down in despair, a prey to the most gloomy forebodings. A moment afterwards the door was thrown open, and three men entered, dripping with the rain. It was Edward Ashton, Graham Hardee, and a friend who had accompanied them when they started on the hunting incursion. They had been overtaken by the storm, lost their way, and accidentally reached the house of the Sibyl. Mutual explanations were made, and when the rain had ceased, they all returned in safety to " Caesar's Head," laughing at this wild adventure, long to be remem- bered. James Eston returned from his visit to the interior of South Carolina, and formed the acquaintance of Edward and Graham — whom he invited to his country seat. Two days afterwards, the whole party proceeded to " Chola," where these young men found the most delightful spot they had ever visited. Day after day now passed in unalloyed pleasure. They were happy and contented, and, notwithstanding the time had come when they should set out for jSTashville, they lingered in this Eden home. Like all earthly pleasures, their protracted visit came to an end. They were about to bid adieu to "Chola,'* and were wandering for the last time through these en- chanting bowers, where they had already spent so many happy hours. Graham Hardee was troubled, and perplexed as to how he should act in the final conference. Yenie had won his heart, and he had reason to believe that he was highly esteemed and perhaps loved, but his lips were sealed. He would not prove faithless to another. They sat alone, and talked of the past, present and future, each endeavor- ing to hide a tenderness which could not be concealed. They each might have owned a mutual flame of \ov& which burned in their hearts. A STORY OP THE CRUEL WAR. 81 "You promised," said Graham, "to tell me what the mountain Sibyl revealed. This will be your last oppor- tunity." " Did I," asked Yenie, thoughtfully. " Be faithful to your promise." " I will," replied Yenie. She now related truthfully all that had been said on that occasion; and when she spoke of the blonde who stood between her and the one she loved, a deep shadow gath- ered over Graham's expressive features. Yenie saw the eifect these words had on the young man, and believed that some unknown barrier now intervened and would separate them perhaps forever. Graham was silent a few moments, busy with his own reflections, when he observed a sadness stealing over Yenie's beautiful face. He knew she had read the secret of his heart, but he durst not explain his unhappy posi- tion. Come weal or woe, happiness or misery, he must act honorably. He was confident that with a single word he could render the fair creature before him the happiest of mortals; but this could not be spoken. The once loved image of Jennie, so gentle, so kind and truthful, like a guardian angel, stood in his way and bade him remain silent. The affecting scene through which he was passing re- called the well-known lines : "Can T behold thee and not speak my love, E'en now thus sadly as thou stand' st before me, Thus desolate, dejected and forlorn Thy softness steals upon my yielding senses, Till my soul faints and sickens with desire." Let us now turn to another scene which occurred in the same vine-clad arbor, where we first introduced to the reader the unknown beauty under her real name. "Lena," said Edward, " I will leave you in a few hours, A short time ago we met as strangers, and I soon learned 4* 82 THE SUNNY LAND; to love you with all my heart. You know nothing of my people, of my life, of my past history. I have no fortune, but all that 1 am I offer you. I do not ask for a final an- swer at present. If you desire to see me again, give me permission to visit you, at this place, and I will do so with the greatest pleasure ; but if not, tell me frankly and we will part forever." Edward took a delicate and unresisting hand into his own, and a moment afterwards the blushing Lena said in a low, sweet voice : " I would be pleased to see you again." Let the curtain fall on this scene of sacred, pure and heartfelt love. Let us leave them alone, in sweet and tender confidence, for their heavens will yet be overcast by an impenetrable gloom, and their smiles of joy will be succeeded by tears of woe. These young men returned to Laurel Hill, where they remained a short time with their friends. Finding Pat- rick Megram well satisfied with his employer, they left him at this place and set out for home. Two weeks afterwards they reached IS'ashville. They had only been absent a short period, but this had sufficed to work a great change on the feelings, hopes and desires of their hearts. We are all changeable creatures. We live in a change- able world. The sun rises and sets ; the tide ebbs and flows ; the moon, stars and all the heavenly bodies change. All nature changes, and in many respects we are no ex- ception to this universal law pervading both the animate and the inanimate world. A STORY OP THE CRUEL WAR. 83 CHAPTEE XI. Three Interesting Scenes. " So, Hiram, you are to be married on to-morrow," said a middle aged lady of the Queen city. *' Indeed Aunt I am." "To the 'belle of two cities?'" " To the beautiful Pennie." "Supposed to be rich?" " Her father is wealthy." "As you imagine, but your Aunt knows better." " What! August Eaymond not rich?" he exclaimed. " He would be as poor as Job's turkey, if his debts were paid," she replied, in a positive tone. The above conversation occurred between Hiram Pike and his Aunt Lucy Bunting, a very knowing lady, upon whom he had called, in order to make a short visit. He was utterly confounded with her words, but after a mo- ment of reflection, he continued : "You must be mistaken." " If you do not believe it, call on Messrs. Henderson & Co., bankers, who informed my husband that Messrs. Eay- mond & Co. must soon fail." " They may have been misinformed," suggested Hiram. «' I have additional evidence," continued Mrs. Bunting. " What ? " he asked eagerly. " Pennie told Miss Lou Merton, her confidential friend, that she did not love you, but as you were rich and as her 84: THE SUNNY LAND J father was somewhat embarrassed, she had concluded to accept you as a choice of evils." This last statement was a stunning blow to Hiram's pride. He strode out of the presence of his Aunt, mad with con- flicting passions and full of indignation. When he had reached the street, he rapidly walked towards the resi- dence of August Eaymond, but suddenly changed his course, and called on one of the firm of Henderson & Co. Here his worst fears were confirmed, for he was told in confidence that the firm of Eaymond & Co. were in a des- perate condition. Hiram began to consider what course he should pursue in the present emergency. He had endorsed, for his in- tended father-in-law, to the amount of twenty thousand dollars, which sum he now supposed would be lost. It was notorious that the marriage ceremony was to be per- formed on the following day, but notwithstanding this, he was not disposed to take a beautiful but penniless bride. Being excited and in no condition for calm reflection, he proceeded to Mr. Raymond's house, becoming more and more indignant at the manner in which he had been deceived. He rang the bell with great violence, which brought an as- tonished servant to the door, whom he suddenly strode past, and entered the parlor in a most unceremonious man- ner. He was vexed at his own blindness — vexed at the loss of twenty thousand dollars, and vexed at the publici- ty given to the intended marriage, yet he could do noth- ing more but gnash his teeth in impotent rage. In a few moments Pennie came sweeping into the par- lor arrayed in costly attire, and advanced with one of her sweetest smiles to greet the man she utterly despised, but had promised to wed on account of his wealth. At a glance she saw that all was not right, and that for some reason he was in a sullen mood. She observed his con- tracted brow and the dark and sinister expression which marked his countenance. In a moment the smile faded A STORY OF TUE CRUEL WAR. 85 from the lips of this queenly beauty, and she stood mo- tionless like a dumb statue, with her hand half extended, and finally said : " Dear Hiram, what is the matter ? " " Matter," he repeated mechanically, then after a mo- ment he added in a cold and freezing tone, "be seated and I will tell you/' " Pray exj^lain," she continued. " I will," said Hiram, " in the most distant manner," and then added bitterly, " you have deceived me." " Wherein," she asked eagerly, with a flushed face. " I have learned that your father is about to become a bankrupt/* '' Indeed." " That you knew it." " Suppose it is true ? " " You did not tell me of it." "Is that all, Mr. Pike?" "It is sufficient." " Sufficient for what ? " " To bring our engagement to a close, knowing as I do that you only wished to marry me for my property." The tongue of the "belle of two cities" was now unloosed. She sprang to her feet, and with the dignity she knew so well how to assume, broke forth in a tone of bitter irony : " Deceived you! " she exclaimed, "was it my business to reveal to you the secrets of Eaymond & Co. ; was it my duty to furnish you with the inventory of my father's lia- bilities. It is plain you never loved me, and only wished to obtain the property you supposed I would inherit. I hate and despise you. Go," she said, pointing to the door with mingled scorn and contempt written on every linea- ment of her fair face. " Leave me forever." An hour afterwards, Hiram Pike was in the bar-room of the Spencer House, in company with two of his boon 86 THE SUNNY LAND J companions. He rarely ever became intoxicated, lest it might injure his standing in that political brothel called a church, to which he belonged, and was an active member, supposed to be confirmed in every good word and work ; but he drank more freely than usual on this night, proba- bly in order to drown the vivid and unpleasant impres- sions Pennie had made on his mind. After they had emp- tied their glasses for the third time, and lighted fresh segars, they adjourned to a private apartment, where they might converse without interruption. •'So, Hiram, you think of going South again?" said a thick, heavy set, sandy-haired, and red complected young man, who was somewhat extravagantly dressed, and known in the circle of city sports as Marvel Puffaway. " Eight off at once," exclaimed Campbell Fukey, a tall, lean, hungry looking individual, about thirty years of age, who was rigged out in a new fancy suit and displayed an unusual amount of jewelry. •' I think of going next week," said Hiram Pike. '' I promised the committee of the ' Liberty Society,' to give them an answer in a few days. I did freedom's glorious cause good service when in East Tennessee, and they are anxious to have me try it again." "You are the man for those stupid slaveholders," said Mr. Puffaway. "Yes, by hokey, I say stir them up," exclaimed Mr. Pukey, who was beginning to feel the liquor he had swal- lowed. " I say give them Jesse by ghost of old John Brown," he continued with a furious oath. '' Groad them into a fight, is my motto," added Hiram Pike. " Let them fight if they dare," exclaimed Mr, Puffaway, with an oath. " I can take one regiment made up in this crty, and march to Mobile in spite of all the task-masters im the South." *' That's so," cried the drunken Campbell Fukey. A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 87 " If they do cause a fuss sufficient to give us an excuse to commence," said Hiram, "we will slash them out some morning before breakfast." "Is it true that you are not going to be married/* asked Mr. Puffaway, interrupting the conversation. " True as gospel," replied Hiram. " I would like to spark that belle myself," said Campbell. " I think I will try her. Oh, lorda, I will." " You will get kicked again," suggested Marvel. " It is a lie," exclaimed Campbell, at the top of his voice. "I was never sacked in my life." " Don't you give me the lie," cried Marvel, springing to his feet. " You are a liar," said Campbell, rising. " Take it back." "I wont." *' You shall." " You can't make me." " I'll slash you." Pistols and knives were drawn, and furious oaths were poured forth incessantly. Hiram who was not so drunk as his companions, endeavored in vain to restore order ; but they only raved, ranted and swore the louder, until the door opened, and three policemen entered. " Halt ! " cried the intoxicated Campbell, addressing these guardians of the night. " Halt ! " he continued, presenting a pistol, " or I will blow out your brains. Halt ! I will send you to kingdom come. Let us put them out,'^ he added, addressing his companions with a fearful oath. Seeing the policemen advancing, he fired, but the ball missed the mark, and a few moments afterwards the three bachannalian revelers found themselves in the firm grip of the city officials. "I am not to blame," said Hiram Pike, somewhat sobered by this unexpected misfortune. 88 THE SUNNY LAND; " Whose room is this/' inquired his custodian. " Mr. Puffaway's/' rej^lied Hiram. "How came you to be here at this late hour," he said sternly. " You must go to the watch-house." Hiram reflected a moment how he could avoid such a disgraceful exposure. It would not do to suffer the an- nouncement to be made in the morning papers. He must invent some plan to prevent a pious member like himself, of the great anti-slavery church, from being brought into disrepute. He now turned to the policeman, and whis- pered a few words in his ear ; and whatsoever may have been the nature of this communication, it certainly had the desired effect. The official bowed with humble respect to the well known champion of universal freedom and negro equality, who was immediately set at liberty, whilst his companions were hurried off to answer for their misdeeds. * * :)c ;jc :{c :(: We now turn to the last scene of this eventful night. Darkness yet brooded like a gloomy pall over the Queen City of the West. The full orbed moon arose in all her 6j)lendor, bathing the world in her soft liquid light, and the deep blue sky glittered with unnumbered stars, which sparkled like brilliant gems throughout the wide spread canopy of the heavens. The vast multitude were now re-, posing in unconscious slumber, ready to spring into fresh life with the new day. The streets were deserted, and not a sound arose on the still air to disturb this silent hour except the occasional echo of straggling feet along the quiet thoroughfare, or the puff of some distant engine over the waters of the majestic Ohio. Let us enter that spacious mansion — the well-known residence of Hiram Pike, which stood on a beautiful ave- nue of the Queen City, and reared its gray walls far above the surrounding aristocratic dwellings of his wealthy neighbors. The lights were yet burning in the halls of this gorgeous palace, recently furnished in great A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 89 splendor with a vicAv of pleasing the tastes of the fair "belle of two cities." On the second floor of this estab- lisment was a handsome apartment, now dimly lighted by the burning gas, revealing the recumbent form of Hiram, as he lay slumbering on a soft spring mattrass, with his head half buried in a downy pillow, resting his weary limbs after the long carousal in which he had indulged. Suddenly he moves uneasily in his slumber, and his features become contracted. The feelings and thoughts of years are condensed in one frightful vision. A dark, dim, and unseemly ghost arises at his bedside. It fixes on him its fiery eye-balls, and points its long, bony fin- gers, and seems to say, thou art the murderer. It lifts its low, mournful voice like the moan of distant winds. The half unconscious sleeper struggles as if wrestling with a fearful nightmare, and groans as if tortured and sinking beneath some resistless burden. Again the haggard face disappears, and in its place he beheld an aged man with venerable locks stained with blood. A beautiful girl followed this dim spectre, wear- ing a pale, saddened, tearless face, who was succeeded by a blood-stained assassin, with a drawn dagger ready to plunge it into his vitals. Hiram uttered a deep groan, and muttered "Away! away! ye fiends! ye infernal spirits." He sprang up with a wild shriek, seized his revolvers, and gazed around the room with a look which bespoke the deep agony of his tortured soul. Then after a few moments, when he had somewhat recovered his composure, he exclaimed : " It was but a dream — -a horrible vision of a stalking spectre, grinning at me like death, pointing to my doom, and making me feel that perhaps — " My time is almost come When to sulphurous and tormenting flames Must render up myself." 90 THE SUNNY LAND; CHAPTER XII. A Border Ruffian visits Chola. The first frosts of November had fallen. A blue smoky haze hung like a gloomy pall over the woods of " Chola." The towering oaks had put on their crimson robes — the maples were casting off their yellow leaves, and the green foliage of summer had already withered, at the approach of dreary winter. The decaying vegetation gave to every thing a mournful aspect, and was a fit emblem of man's short, feverish existence on earth — "who cometh forth as a flower and is cut down — who fleeth as a shadow and con- tinueth not." Lena Eston and Yenie Ardin might have been seen strolling along the banks of " Mills Eiver," each sad, silent and melancholy. That ceaseless flow of spirits for which they had once been remarkable had passed away, and they were now thoughtful and gloomy, without being able to account for their unusual depression. Finally they sat down on the bank of this sparkling stream to rest ; and Lena said : " Beautiful river ! flowing on forever, an emblem of life's ceaseless current." " Gliding on swiftly," replied Yenie ; " and thus our lives are passing away. Like it we will soon roll into the great ocean of eternity." " We may shortly be there," continued Lena, solemnly. " The times are ominous of approaching evil. The land is full of commotions." A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 91 " "We can only hope that these gathering storms will soon disperse." " I feel sad," continued Lena, " but I know not why." " You should be happy, for Edward loves you, and will soon return. No blonde," she added, with a faint smile, " intervenes." "Dear cousin," she replied, "the blonde was nothing more than an idle vagary of the 'Mountain Prophet- ess.' " " I know," replied Yenie, " that no one can reveal future events, but when I related the idle words of the Sibyl to Graham, I knew by his countenance that she had acciden- tally spoken the truth." " We can only hope for the best,^' replied Lena. " That woman's nonsense should not give us a moment's trouble. I would not if I could, look beyond the veil which hides futurity, for the horrors revealed might rob me of all hap- piness." These two cousins, always gentle, kind and inseparable companions, now returned to the Mansion House, where they found Mr. Eston perusing a letter with a troubled countenance. Lena advanced to her father, who gave her the note, without a single comment. She received it with a trembling hand and read ; " Cincinnati^ Nov. 1, 1860. " Mr. Eston : — My niece has for some months past, been engaged to be married to a Mr. Edward Ashton, of i^ash- ville. A report recently reached me that he was paying his respects to your daughter. The importance of my knowing its truth or falsehood, is my excuse for address- ing an entire stranger. I have for some time known that he was without fortune, but did not suspicion that he could be guilty of such a dishonorable act as the one with which he is charged. Please let me hear from you at your earliest convenience. " Yery respectfully, John Eeyno." 92 THE SUNNY LAND; Lena was much agitated when she began to read this epistle, but as she iDroceeded, her cheeks became flushed with indignation ; and when she had completed its peru- sal, she exclaimed vehemently — " Papa, these charges are false. I know Edward never acted so dishonorably ! " Mr. Eston looked at his daughter with some surprise, and, for the first time, he suspicioned that she loved Ed- ward Ashton. A few moments of painful silence succeed- ed, after which he asked — "What is Edward Ashton to you, my daughter?" "He saved my life and your life," she replied. "I have implicit confidence in his honor. He told me he loved me, and " "And what, my daughter?" he inquired in a mild and gentle tone, which bespoke the depth of his feelings. Lena sprang to her feet with a flushed face, sat down on her father's knee, and threw her arms around his neck. " I love him, papa," she continued, in a low tone, scarcely above a whisper. She then related what Edward had said when they parted, and revealed his promise to return again. Mr. Eston listened with deep interest whilst she was unfolding the secrets of her heart. He was astonish- ed that it had never before occurred to him that his only child loved the handsome stranger who had twice saved her life. When she had finished her story, he said : " Time will prove all things." On the same day a well-dressed gentleman, perhaps for- ty years of age, arrived at " Chola," calling himself David Hinton, who inquired for Mrs. Duree. He was shown into the parlor, where the desired house- keeper soon made her apj^earance. The stranger bowed low and handed her a letter, which she broke open and then, after a few moments, said : " From my friend Mr. Pike ; I learn he proposes visiting us." A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 93 " Yes, in less than a week," replied Mr. Hinton. " My special business is stated in the letter." " I see," continued Mrs. Duree, as she perused the remain- der of the letter; and when she had finished it, she added: " I can arrange this matter." " I suppose we are in no danger of being overheard," observed Mr. Hinton, as he suspiciously cast his eyes around the room. " We can converse in perfect safety," she replied ; and then continued : " I have never been able to do much for my friend. That gentleman from Nashville got acquainted with Lena when absent from home, and 1 saw nothing could be done after they came to this place. I will ar- range for you to make the desired statement this evening during tea, when all will be present. The family assembled at the table as usual, with the addition of Mr. Hinton. Lena appeared and sat down with her cousin, looking somewhat pale and troubled from the effects of the letter her father had received. Mr. Hinton talked and laughed almost incessantly, and labored to render himself very agreeable. Finally, to- wards the close of the repast, he said to Mrs. Duree, who sat at the head of the table, impatiently awaiting the ex- pected announcement which was to startle all the family : " I recently met with one of your acquaintances residing in Nashville." " Who ? " inquired Mrs. Duree, as though ignorant of the statement he was about to make. " Mr. Edward Ashton, who told me he had recently vis- ited these mountains." All eyes were now fixed on the speaker, who continued in a careless tone : " He was preparing to wed the belle of Nashville and Cincinnati — the beautiful Pennie Kaymond." The color instantly forsook Lena's cheeks. She sat a moment overwhelmed by this sudden intelligence, then 94 THE SUNNY LAND; said somethiDg about being indisposed, and left the table, followed by her cousin. When they were alone, she burst into a fit of weeping ; and after some moments had elapsed, she said — " Oh ! Yenie, what am I to think of all this ? " " Perhaps it is a mistake," said her companion. " This account confirms that letter, and papa will believe it. Oh! if I only knew the truth. How can I endure the suspense ? " Yenie endeavored to comfort her cousin, but she was unable to recall the sunny smile to her beautiful face. She ceased to weep, but remained dejected, sad, and miserable. 5fJ * * ^ * :}; About a week afterwards, Hiram Pike arrived at " Cho- la" when all the family were absent except Mrs. Duree, who received him with the greatest pleasure, and informed him of the precise condition of afi'airs. He had put up at a jDublic house in Eavenwood, a small village in the neigh- borhood, where he designed spending the nights and visit- ing " Chola " as long as it might be advisable. He was now in good spirits' and felt quite certain that he would be successful in winning the "Belle of the Mountains," wbom, he had recently learned, possessed much more wealth than he had anticipated. As to the slaves she would inherit, he could either convert them into money or change his sentiments on slavery, without doing vio- lence to his conscience. When Lena and her cousin arrived at home on this afternoon, they found Hiram Pike anxiously awaiting their return. They showed no special joy at his unexpected appearance, but he was not in the least discouraged by their apparent indifference. He imagined that in the end he would prove irresistible, and when he finally arose to depart, he told them that he would be detained at Eaven- wood some days, and would be pleased to see them again. Hiram now visited " Chola" every day. He endeavored A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 95 to make a good impression on Mr. Eston, believing that the father's influence, added to the shrewdness of Mrs. Duree, would remove all difficulties. In order to make everything doubly sure, he next attempted to bring Yenie to his assistance, but in this he made a signal failure. She remained cold and distant, treating him with great for- mality. One day when Lena was absent, Yenie said to Mr. Pike : "Are you acquainted with Edward Ashton, of Nash- ville?'' " I know him by reputation," he replied, with evident confusion. " I hear he is about to be married," she continued, and at the same time she fixed her sparkling eyes on his face. Hiram was silent; and she then asked: "what is the name of the lady ? " *' Pennie Eaymond," he answered, in a hesitating tone : " * the belle of two cities.' " "Is this report true?" she asked, watching his counte- nance, as if determined to read the secrets of his heart. " I do not doubt it." Yenie continued the same inquisitorial process, notwith- standing Mr. Pike's efforts to change the subject. She saw he was uneasy, and very guarded in his statements. His manner, more than his words, confirmed her in the opinion that something was wrong. With the instincts of a shrewd woman, she was driven to the conclusion that this man had, in some way, been the author of these calum- nies. Yenie finally spoke of the letter that had been received. This confused Hiram more than ever, who dreaded some unexpected exposure, and as his last resort, he looked at his watch and remarked that he wished to see Mr. Eston, whom he knew to be in the library, to which place he im- mediately repaired. Hiram Pike was confident of success. He did not think 96 THE SUNNY LAND; it possible that a man of his known wealth would meet with a rebuff, and he entered the library with the deter- mination of proposing what he hoped would be accepted as a splendid matrimonial alliance. He was happy to find Mr. Eston alone, and after a few preliminary remarks, he said — " When I first met your daughter I admired her." Mr. Eston was surprised, dropped the paper he had been reading, lifted his spectacles nervously, and fixed his eyes on the speaker, as if wondering to what all this would lead, and then repeated — " You admired my daughter." " Yes sir," said the embarrassed Hiram Pike. " I was then struck with her beauty." "You were struck with her beauty," repeated Mr. Eston. "I was attracted and learned to love her." Mr. Eston sat uneasily, awaiting a more definite an- nouncement, but the confused lover remained silent, with down-cast eyes. Finally he added, abruj)tly : " I would marry your daughter." " You would." " With your consent." " My daughter's consent is important." " I have not spoken to her yet on this subject." "I never intend to select a husband for my daughter," he replied, in a quiet tone, " and I trust she has sufficient judgment to make a wise choice for herself." Mr. Eston again fixed his eyes on the paper he had been reading, thereby indicating he had nothing more to say. Under these circumstances Hiram should have backed himself out of the room without further ceremony, but he suddenly thought of his wealth, and said -r- " I have a large fortune." '• That is all well enough," replied Mr. Eston. '^ I should not object to my daughter selecting a wealthy individual, provided he possessed talent, integrity and moral worth : A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 97 all of which are much more important than property qualifications. My daughter will have an abundance of this world's goods, and I hope she will choose one whether rich or poor, who is calculated to render her happy." Hiram Pike returned to the parlor, Avhere he found Le- na alone, and sat down near her with the intention of making a brilliant proposal. He considered himself an adept in courtship, but on the present occasion he was embarrassed by fears of a failure. Finally he drew a long breath, and said — " Miss Eston, I wish to speak with you on a serious sub- ject.'^ ''A religious subject," she said, interrogatively. " No, on one not quite so solemn, but perhaps more ex- citing and equally as interesting." " Secession," she adroitly replied, " is the most exciting topic of conversation, but we would never agree on that subject." Hiram drew another long breath, during which he ap- peared to be concentrating his confused ideas, and then continued, in his usual pompous manner : " We have been acquainted for some time, and I have learned to love you with my whole heart. I have wealth and move in the best circles of society. My warmest affections are yours, and I now offer you my hand and ask you to share my wealth. Do you love me ? " he con- tinued, and at the same time he atj^empted to take her hand, but she instantly removed it beyond his reach. " I do not love 3^ou," she replied, firmly. " But you will," he said eagerly. ''Never," she replied, without hesitation. "Oh! why will you not make me happy, he exclaimed, vehemently. "I know the cause," he continued bitterly. " You admire another, who is unworthy of your affections, and is engaged to " "Mr. Pike," she said, interrupting him, "it is sufficient 5 98 THE SUNNY LAND; for you to know that I do not and never will love you. You have no right to presume that I admire any person." " I know you do/' he continued, passionately ; " it is that penniless fortune hunter of Kashville." " I'll hear no more of this," said Lena, rising, with a glow of indignation on her cheeks, and then added : — *' My hand and my heart are my own, and I have a per- fect right to bestow them on whom I please." Hiram Pike also arose and stood a few moments in silence. The smiles in which he had wreathed his face a few minutes before had passed away, and he now wore a dark and dia- bolical countenance, that made Lena tremble with fear. His evil nature was completely aroused by the demon of revenge, hatred and disappointed love. " Farewell ! " he hissed through his teeth, " farewell ! but not forever. We will shortly meet again. This is your day of triumph, but mine will soon come." He now strode haughtily out of the house, leaving the frightened Lena alone to consider the mysterious import of his words. Years had passed away, and many sad changes had oc- curred, before she was able to comprehend the full force of the threat he then uttered. Hiram Pike did not leave Raven wood immediately. On the following day he secretly dispatched a note to Mrs. Duree, designating a time and place for private conference. They met at the specified hour, took sweet counsel togeth- er, and renewed the compact for their mutual benefit. Lena was to be won by strategy, and made the wife of the degraded Hiram Pike, after which Mrs. Duree imagined that she could easily inveigle Mr. Eston into a marriage with herself, and thus establish her reign at " Chola" on a permanent basis. A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 99 CHAPTEEXIII. Civil Dissensions in East Tennessee. Another year was rapidly passing away — a year long to be remembered in the annals of our country — a year marked by terrible events never to be forgotten. The whole land was full of commotions. State after State had withdrawn from the violated compact. The strong arm of the Government was paralyzed, and the Union no long- er existed but in name. The political fountains were broken up, and the fragments of a once glorious Eepub- lic, tossed by the contending elements, seemed mingling in one universal chaos. Thus it has ever been in the his- tory of nations, kingdoms, and empires. They arose in s2:)lendor, and, for a short period, were blessed with inter- nal peace and prosperity. Their years rolled on "with song and joy ; " but suddenly the heavens were clouded with a fearful destiny, and their mirth was followed by bitter wails and lamentations. Each calm in their history was succeeded by a yet more terrible convulsion — until their institutions were wrecked — until their Government was blotted out of existence, and they became like " a vast pyramid, raising it's bleak head amid the ruins of time," known only its desolations. "So fell the old republics — Gentile and Jew — Roman and Greek," and such will ever be the record, as long as the principle of coercion shall be admitted. 100 THE SUNNY LAND J Mankind are slow to learn the true foundation of a strong Government. They are ever prone to forget that the people must be united by a common interest — that they must share a common glory — that they must be ruled by common consent, and that every one must have an equal voice in all public matters. They are liable to lose sight of the fact that the people made the Govern- ment for their own benefit, and, on the contrary, to imag- ine that the citizens were created expressly for the good of the authorities. A resort to force where free institu- tions exist, is the height of folly, madness, and wickedness — an ignoble idea, derived from the worst despotisms that ever disgraced this earth, and must ever result in the over- throw of the usurpers, or a total destruction of the liber- ties of the people. The time will assuredly come when the destructive principle of coercion, borrowed from the gloom of past centuries, at a period when the Goddess of Liberty seemed to have forever winged her flight from this devastated and blood-stained world, will be considered as a relic of barbarism. Then the people will establish popular gov- ernments and dissolve them at pleasure. Then communi- ties will unite under a written constitution, and again separate in peace ; then rulers will learn to consult the interests of the citizens, and be unable to usurp powers never delegated ; then bloody civil wars will be unknown, and no longer disgrace the annals of this world, where cruelty, injustice, and oppression, has ever marred the peace and happiness of the human race. In the month of February, 1861, the State of Tennessee, by a vote of her sovereign people, refused to call a Con- vention to even consider the propriety of withdrawing from the Union, yet, at the same time, they boldly an- nounced that troops should never cross her soil with her consent, to coerce any seceding State. True to her senti- ments, when blood began to flow, when seventy-five thous- A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 101 and men were called into the field, to convert a Govern- ment of consent into one of coercion, she began to mar- shal her hosts for the impending conflict. The middle and western portions oY the State were united, but, in East Tennessee, the people were rent to pieces by civil dissen- sions. They were separated into two hostile factions con- tending for the mastery, which soon resulted in anarchy, bloodshed, and confusion. It was on a lonely evening in the latter part of the month of May, 1861, we would introduce the reader into Knoxville, the commercial emporium of East Tennessee, then the centre of all political and military movements in than region. It was already beginning to grow late in the evening, but the Lamar House was yet crowded by Confederate oflScers and leading politicians, who were openly conversing on their respective operations, and dis- cussing the probable success of the impending struggle. In the midst of these sat Hiram Pike, apparently perusing the last issue of the Knoxville Register^ but in reality noting every word that fell from the lips of the surround- ing oflScials. A Confederate soldier, wearing the uniform of a private, suddenly entered and handed a sealed package to an officer, then stood gazing around the apartment, until his eyes rested on Hiram Pike. He started with sudden surprise when he perceived that individual, and muttered to him- self: '' Hiram Pike, as sure as my name is Pat Megram." He next walked to the front of Mr. Pike, evidently wishing to see if that person would recognize him in a Confederate uniform — but he appeared suddenly to change his notion, and walked to the desk, seized a pen, and began writing. The note was torn up as soon as written, and another prepared. This he examined carefully, after which he returned to the rear of Hiram, Avho yet sat perusing the journal, apparently deeply absorbed in its contents. 102 THE SUNNY LAND; Pat Megram waited a few moments, and then dropped the note over his shoulder, and suddenly disappeared. Hiram Pike gathered up this short epistle, written in a scrawling hand-writing, and read : — • " Mr. Pike : — May the ghost of Croft, and his murdered daughter, haunt you night and day. May Nell Tucker pursue you like an incarnate fiend. Make a blue streak Northward, or I Avill see you roasted on a grid- iron." He instantly sprang to his feet, pale and trembling, and gazed wildly around the room, but he could see no familiar face. He walked out into the hall, anxious, perplexed, and ready to fly for his life, when he met with the Rev. Obadiah Stanton. After a few whispered words, they as- cended to the next floor, and entered a private apartment. " What is the news?" inquired the Parson. " Some good, and some bad," answered Hiram. *' I suppose all our secret organizations work well ? " " Yes," he replied, " beyond our expectations. Most of our substantial Union men have joined the leagues. As I have expended all the money furnished by my Northern friends — and as my life is threatened, I think of returning home. I see nothing more that I can do for our cause, at present." " I also think of going North," said the Parson. " Perhaps you had better do so, as you have taken a very active part in our movements, and have openly preached and prayed our doctrines." Then after a mo- ment he added, in a quiet tone : " Some of our own party are not to be trusted." "Our leaders are true," said Mr. Stanton. " You are much mistaken, for, on last week, we came within an ace of losing our ' King Bee.'" "Who?" " A certain hot-headed, ranting political Parson, who consigns all his foes to eternal damnation, fire and brim- stone — alias the Savage Parson. A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 103 " Impossible ! " " Even so ; but I have circumvented our enemies, and he is now all right again." " "When do you think of leaving Knoxville ? " inquired the Parson. "This very night, as soon as the Council is over.'^ " When you get through the lines," said the Parson, " you must make a report to the loyal people well calcu- ted to fire the ISTorthern heart. This must be made a fierce, bloody, and a vindictive war, waged with such fury as to impoverish the Southern people, and extirpate slavery." " I will attend to that as soon as I reach home," said Hiram. " I will go into the army immediately, so I can have my share of the fun — booty and beauty." Mr. Pike now consulted a fine gold watch, and announ- ced that it was the hour the league had ap])ointed to meet. They both arose and left the hotel, for the purpose of ap- pearing with the secret conclave, and at the same time there mig-ht have been seen a number of men, travelling in the same direction, and bound for the same destination. Hiram Pike and his friend passed down Gay Street, through a large number of Confederate soldiers, then turned into a less frequented thoroughfare, and finally came to a narrow, crooked lane, which was entirely de- serted at this late hour of the night. They next entered an enclosure from the rear, and ap- proached a sentinel who barred the way. " Help Cometh," said Hiram, with a peculiar signal, which was instantly recognized, and they were permitted to pass. They now pursued a narrow hall some distance, and then ascended a long flight of steps, and were finally halted by another sentinel. Hiram Pike advanced and whispered in his ear, " Death to traitors." They were immediately ushered into a large hall, already well-filled, amongst whom they recognized some of the lead- in^^ citizens in that vicinity. 104 THE SUNNY LAND ; The Grand High Priest of the brotherhood, wearing the insignia of his oflSce. now arose, and proceeded to open with the usual formalities. After the transaction of some unimportant business, reports were received from various organizations in the surrounding counties. Hiram Pike arose for the purpose of making a farewell address. He rapidly sketched the labors he had perform- ed in their midst, and the success that had attended his ef- orts. He exhorted them to maintain the cause of the Union, to keep up their organizations, and promised that within a few months the Union arm}^ would enter East Tennessee, when they would all be rewarded for their faithfulness ; but knowing that he addressed some who owned slaves, and others who were friends to the institution, he careful- ly avoided that subject. He next explained a plan by which constant communication could be kept up with the ^Northern States, by means of secret couriers, and recom- mended its immediate adoption. He proposed that, when the proper time should come, they should burn all the rail- road bridges in East Tennessee, rush to arms, and hold the country until reinforcements could cross the mountains — a project which was actually attempted a few months later, when it proved a complete failure. The Savage Parson followed, in a short oration, pouring forth a perfect storm of Billingsgate. He bitterly' de- nounced the rebels, consigning them — with all the vulgar profanity peculiar to his dark and malignant nature — to the lowest depths, and the hottest focus, of Pluto's sombre domains. Finally, having exhausted all the epithets known to the English language, he took his seat before an admir- ing audience. The Eev. Obadiah Stanton arose and said : " This wicked rebellion will soon be crushed. This land of dark- ness — this habitation of cruelty — must be cleansed. The proud despisers of God's Law will yet be made to smoke in the furnace of affliction, and, if they do not repent. A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 105 they will be brought down to the lowest pits of hell. Let them continue to resist "the powers that be," — ordained of God ; let them indulge their anger, wrath, and malice, and the day will soon come, and is now at hand, when they will howl in their misery. They will be cursed in the city, cursed in the field, cursed in their basket and store, cursed in the fruit of their loins, cursed in their flocks, and cursed when they go out or come in. They will per- ish quickly, because they hold the slave in bondage, and have rebelled against the best government in the world : except that it has permitted this one infernal institution, slavery, which is suflicient to blacken the name of any nation. This reference to slavery created a sensation, and brought a half dozen of persons to their feet, who could not agree with him on the hated institution. Hiram sat still, but was sorry this firebrand had been introduced. The Sav- age Parson, who had long defended slavery and abused all abolitionists, looked daggers at the speaker who had meekly taken his seat; and a sandy-haired man, of fifty, broke forth in defense of the United States, declaring it had no power and never would interfere with their prop- erty. Finally he exclaimed, "is the Government a dog that it should do such a thing?" and then sank back into his seat, completely exhausted. Some leading spirits followed, making an attempt to smooth over the matter and prove, at least to their own satisfaction, that no such a thing was intended or ever would be done. The Eev. Obadiah remained silent, grin- ning at the speakers, as much as to say, '' wait, and see what will become of your negroes," but he did not deem it expedient to again express his thoughts. What a shocking spectacle our country presented dur- ing this fearful contest — the legitimate offspring of fanat- icism, and the natural result of the despotic doctrines of coercion. We can scarcely realize the fact that brethren 5>K 106 THE SUNNY LAND J of one common heritage — that citizens of sister common- wealths, once united by common consent — professing to be attached to free institutions — continually declaring their hatred for all governments held together by force, should madly wage a long, bloody, and desolating war, for the sake of establishing a principle they had ever derided. Oh ! the folly, wickedness, and inhumanity of men. "When their evil passions are aroused, they will blindly sacrifice their best interests in order to gratify their malignant hearts. " They have no judgment left, and madly teach Those bloody creeds of force, which will return To plague the blind inventors." A STORY OF TUB CRUEL WAR. 107 CHAPTEE XIY. The Great Civil War Inaugurated. The fearful tocsin of war was sounded, and a multitude rushed to arms. The farmer left his plow in the midst of the furrow ; the mechanic dropped his implements of in- dustry; the merchant forsook the counter; the student cast aside his books ; the lawyer deserted the bar, and all minds were concentrated on the art of human butchery. The wild, fierce and warlike cry of "to arms," arose throughout the land. " To arms " was borne on every breeze- " To arms " reverberated over every valley, and was re-ech- oed from every mountain gorge. Thus was inaugurated a long, bloody and relentless war — a war which made un- numbered widows and orphans — a war which filled the land with w^ails and lamentations — a war which rendered unnumbered homes desolate, and left them lifeless, leafless, hopeless. " The spirit-broken, bleeding lone." Graham Hardee was amongst the foremost volunteers who entered the infantry service, and was shortly after- wards commissioned with the rank of major. Edward Ashton raised a cavalry company soon after his friend had left home, and was ordered to Kentucky, where he was first initiated into the hardships incident to a soldier'^ life. He was immediately sent forward in command of a small force to watch the motions of the enemy, and was engaged in various skirmishes, pursuits and retreats, some of which 108 THE SUNNY LAND; required much skill, in order to escape destruction. He soon f^ained the reputation of a brave, dashing and able officer, and was frequently entrusted with the management of hazardous enterprises. With a mere handful of men, he performed many brilliant feats, and made numberless hair-breadth escapes, which will long be remembered and related by the war-worn soldier, on the long wintry nights, as he gathers a happy family circle around the blazing hearth. The summer, fall and winter of 18G1 slowly passed away, and towards the close of the year some unexpected reverses befel the Confederates. The enemy had advanced in overwhelming numbers. Fort Donaldson had been cap- tured, and another reverse had been sustained at Fishing Creek, which made it necessary that they should evacuate a considerable portion of Tennessee. The main Confederate army slowly retreated, covered by an insufficient cavalry force, pursued by a victorious enemy, flushed by recent victories. It was in the midst of dreary winter. The rain poured down almost inces- Bantly. The soldiers suffered terribly, yet they bore it without a murmur. One day Captain Ashton was ordered to lead his men to a certain point, and to hold that position against the Federals as long as possible. Those under his command had been constantly in the saddle for several days, during which it had rained almost without intermission. They had been engaged in numerous skirmishes, and a majority had lost their overcoats and blankets, so that they were exposed to all the rigors of this inclement sea- son. They were, without exception, wet, cold, hungry and worn out by constant movements, but they obeyed this order without complaint, and formed a line at the des- ignated place. A superior force of the Yankees soon appeared, and made a desperate attempt to drive the Confederates from A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 109 their position, in order to reach a train of wagons in their rear, but they were foiled, and were compelled to retire. Captain Ashton soon afterwards learned that the enemy had been reinforced. He feared a flank movement, and would have retreated, but his orders were imperative that he should hold that position as long as possible. The Federals began a new attack with artillery, and soon afterwards advanced in heavy force. The Confeder- ates, for more than an hour, manfully held their j^osition, in order to give the valuable wagon trains sufficient time to escape, and then began to slowly retreat, fighting the ene- my as they fell back, and making a stand at every availa- ble point. Captain Ashton now discovered that a large force, by a circuitous route, had gained a position which effectually cut off all further retreat. An impassable stream lay on his left, and a rugged hill on his right, whilst before and behind were the advancing enemy, in overwhelming num- bers. • Death or captivity appeared to be inevitable. He was not a man to shrink from danger and give the foe an easy victory. He instantly ordered a charge, and with the foremost of his men, dashed into the midst of the Fed- erals. It was a desperate hand to hand fight. The bravest of the brave mingled in the fearful strife, cutting, slashing and hewing each other with their sabres. "One effort — one — to break the circling host, To form — unite — charge — waver — all is lost Within a narrow ring compressed, beset ; Ah ! now thej fight in firmest tile no more. Hemmed — cut off — cleft down, and trampled o'er, But each strikes singly, silently and home, And sinks outnumbered rather than o'ercome. His last faint quittance rendering with his breath — 'Till the blade glimmers in the grasp of death." Edward had well-nigh opened for himself a passage through the broken ranks, when he was confronted by a Federal Captain, whom he recognized and despised. It was Hiram Pike, his old rival, who spurred his horse for- 110 THE SUNNY LAND; ward and aimed a blow at his head, which would have in- stantly put an end to his career, had it not been success- fully parried. Edward knew that he could expect no mercy from his assailant, and resolved to sell his life as dear as possible. He skillfully parried each thrust of his antagonist, and finally gave him a stroke which made an ugly gash in his face, and sent him reeling from his saddle. At the same in- stant a long-armed Western Hoosier struck Edward a stunning blow, and the next moment his horse was shot and fell to the earth. When Edward became conscious, he found he had re- ceived a number of severe wounds. He soon learned that the Federals had only taken a few of his men prisoners, and he also ascertained that the obstinate resistance he had made, had enabled the Confederate trains to escape the clutches of the enemy. His accommodating captors now relieved him of his watch, portmonnaie, and sundry other articles, after which he was placed in an ambulance and sent to a point some miles in rear of the battle-field. Edward now languished some weeks under the care of a careless surgeon. He was often in want of the most common necessaries of life, which could easily have been obtained, and he frequently lacked for attention. So great was his sufi'ering, that he sometimes imagined that his captors had determined to procure his death by ill treat- ment. The prisoner finally began to grow better, and to feel that he would, in time, regain his usual health. Another trial must now be endured. The Federal author- ities had determined to send him to some Korthern pe?i, where he would be under the charge of cowardly home mi- litia, who better understood the process of tormenting cap- tured Eebels. On the day when Edward was to set out for the North, A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. Ill in company with some other "prisoners, Captain Pike came into the hospital. He was unusually pale, and yet wore a bandage over his scarred face. He fixed his eyes on the prisoner with all the diabolical hate and deep malignity, peculiar to his sordid and contemptible nature, then uttered a fierce and vindictive threat, muttered a half suppressed oath, and turned to the ofiicer of the guard, who was awaiting orders to set out with the pris- oners. Edward could not have heard sufiicient to know that his own safety was under discussion. As Captain Pike turned to depart, he heard him say distinctly, with a fierce oath : " Drop him, I say, drop him by the way." " I will see about it," returned the officer. Edward did believe he was in much danger, judging from this reply. It was not so common, at this early pe- riod, to " lose prisoners by the way," to use the army expression, as it afterwards became, when all minds were more inflamed, and the war had assumed a more ferocious character. He did not then believe it possible that such a deliberate, cold-blooded murder could be perpetrated, but in after years he learned that men could be guilty of such infamous atrocities. Edward, in company with a number of prisoners, was first sent back to the Queen City of the West. They were at this point landed and marched through its streets, well guarded, and surrounded by a vast concourse of men, women and children — all anxious to see some specimens of live rebels, who had been engaged in the.horrible attempt to break up "the best government the world ever saw." They gazed with wonder at these prisoners, whom they considered criminals of the deepest die, having had the audacity to withdraw from the shadow of the powers or- dained by high heaven, and then, like unruly children, had refused to take a flogging for such wilful disobedience. They looked upon them as so many outlaws, who had for- 112 THE SUNNY LAND; felted all right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happi- ness — who richly deserved to be suspended by their necks. Many bitter words fell on Edward's ears as he passed through the angry multitude, surging like a restless ocean tossed into a ferment by contending winds, but he finally reached the cars in safety. Before the train moved on, he cast his eyes back over the Queen City with the inward reflection of the madness, folly, and ignorance of its in- habitants. What a scene it j^resents, thought Edward — what a scramble, what a mortal struggle here exists — what delusive schemes — what ambitious motives — what hatred, malice, and ill-will, what blindness to their best interests, stir this vast concourse of j)eople ! They are aiding in overthrowing a noble constitution, and are labor- ing to establish a military despotism, which must result in a " reign of terror " — in bloodshed, anarchy and confusion throughout the whole land. The train moved on rapidly to some unknown destina- tion. The sun sank to rest and " Twilight grey Had in her sombre liverj all things clad," when they reached a considerable village built around a Eailroad Station. Edward and the prisoners who were with him were or- dered to occupy an adjoining car, and in the confusion in- cident to this change, he stepped off the platform without being discovered, then quickly passed around a train which stood on an adjoining track, from which point he moved on, under the shield of darkness, until he came to a couple of soldiers. The lights were so dim they did not observe him, and he passed unseen between two freight cars, and soon found himself alone in an open space. He next entered a dark alley, and finally succeeded in reach- ing the open country. He now sat down and reflected what he should do. He A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 113 was yet feeble in health, and unable to walk a great dis- tance. He wore a Rebel uniform, which would certainly betray him, unless he could exchange it for a citizen's dress. He was penniless, and unable to procure a morsel of food. He was a stranger in a strange land — in the midst of an implacable foe, far from home and friends. He saw but little chance of escaping the tender mercies of the military authorities. He was exceedingly sad, forlorn, and desolate, and ready to despair. He finally rose up, determined to make a struggle for his liberty, when he discovered a light proceeding from a cottage on a neighboring eminence. He advanced cau- tiously towards this dwelling for the purpose of reconnoi- tering. Finding a window oj^en he advanced to it, when he heard a gentleman say distinctly — " Captain Pike has returned to Cincinnati with a con- siderable wound on his face." " So I heard this morning," replied a feminine voice, which once was like the sweetest music to Edward's ear. " Your brothers are both in the army ? " " Yes," replied the same lady , " they are now at Nash- ville, and father is also at that place. He has been quite low spirited ever since he unfortunately lost his property, but he now hopes to get an army contract that will ena- ble him to resume business. There is no one at home at present but my mother and myself We are, indeed, quite lonesome at this quiet country seat." The stranger now arose and bid adieu to Pennie Ray- mond, passing out within three feet of the Confederate officer, who stood in the shade of some ornamental shrubs. As soon as the echo of his footsteps had died away in the distance, Edward resolved to enter the parlor unannounc- ed, trusting that Pennie would be disposed to shield him from his enemies. vShe sat alone in the parlor in a reflective mood, when a light footstep arrested her attention. She turned her head 114 THE SUNNY LAND; and instantly sprang to her feet, with an expression of mingled surprise and fear. She did not speak, faint, nor scream, but stood gazing at this grey apparition with utter astonishment. Edward's appearance was so much changed by the uniform he wore and by his recent sufferings, that she did not recognize him until he said, in a tone never to be forgotten : " Pennie Eaymond ! '* Her whole aspect instantly changed. A smile broke over her beautiful face, and she extended her hand, as she had been accustomed to do in past years. She had never ceased to love that young man, and was glad to see him again, even clad as he was in the despised Confederate grey. They now sat down together and he told her frank- ly his condition, and asked if she could not direct him to some Southern sympathiser who would assist him to reach home. Pennie reflected a few moments, and then replied: " I know of none to whom you could safely apply. I can find some garments here that will fit you, so you can dispose of your uniform immediately. I expect one of my brothers to be home in a week or two, and when he ar- rives I will get him to advance you some money and assist you to return to the South. In the meantime you can re- main with us and recruit your health, which seems to be much impaired. Edward passed a few quiet days at this retired country seat. Mrs. Eaymond and her daughter were the only members of the family at home, and since the loss of their property, they had but few visitors. He was left almost entirely to the care of Pennie, who seemed happy at being able to entertain her guest, and never better satisfied than when in his company. She appeared determined, by marked kindness and assiduous attention, to make him forget that she had ever proved false to the sacred vows of unchangeable love — that she had ever trampled on his warm affections, and bid him leave her forever. She en- A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 115 deavored to persuade him never to return to the South, and to give up all thought of again mingling in an unhap- py conflict, destined to rage with increasing fury. As day after day passed away, she became more and more devoted to the Eebel Captain, whom she was endeav- oring to hold in a soft imprisonment by the sweet bland- ishment of love. It soon became evident that she was laboring to win back his first affections, and hold him a willing captive at her feet. He could not but admire her queenly beauty and listen with pleasure to. the sweet music of her voice. He felt he was gradually yielding to her enticing smiles, which, like the reptile-charmed bird, he was unable to resist. Her kind words, full of love and sympathy, fell on his sad and dreary heart like the genial showers of autumn, followed by the sunshine of heaven. Yet he was not satisfied to remain, and desired to escape the potent spell. Another image was enshrined in his heart, and he longed for the hour when he could fly to his native land, then bleeding at every pore. One afternoon, at the close of a long summer day, Ed- ward was sitting alone in the parlor. It was beginning to grow dark, but the room had not yet been lighted, when Pennie came in and gave him a beautiful boquet of choice flowers ; then sat down on the sofa at his side, and began talking in a very amiable mood. She ran over a list of emblems attached to various flowers, which spoke the pe- culiar language of the affectionate heart, and then said — " But you do not understand them. You do not know the meaning of love." " You do not think so," he replied. " You once thought you loved me, but it was a mistake," she said, with a smile. Edward did not immediately reply, and she continued : " You think I did not treat you in a becoming manner. Kow let me tell you candidly, I loved you from the mo- ment we first met in Nashville, but I was young, proud 116 THE SUNNY LAND; and foolish. I loved you, no one knows how well, when I told you we must part forever." "Why, Pennie! why did you then use deceit?" " Because I imagined I must wed my equal in wealth, and thought I could easily forget you. Oh ! how dearly I have paid the j^enalty of the falsehood I then acted. Be- lieve me, Edward," she continued, in a most affecting tone, " I have never ceased to love you, and must ever re- gret my follyv Can you forgive me?" " Forgive you," he repeated, taking her extended hand, which sent a magic thrill through all his veins. "Let it be forgotten," he continued, fixing his eyes on her face, then half concealed by the darkness. " Forget I never can," said Pennie, in a soft and affec- tionate manner. " It is the burden of my life. You know not how bitterly I have repented that unworthy act. Often have I wept at my madness, in thus forever destroy- ing my own haj^piness. Edward was deeply moved. Her words had touched the depths of his heart. He was thrilled by the sweet magic of that voluptuous beauty, whose hand yet rested in his own, and whose manner, more than her words, seemed to say, " I am yours forever." She now sank for- ward, apparently fainting, in his arms. Her potent charm had acted, and the young man was like one borne forward by a resistless current. He saw nothing but the beauty before him, and, for a moment, yielded to the delicious dream of a long forgotten love. It was but for a moment that Edward submitted to these seductive influences. A pure and beautiful image arose before him in all its loveliness. He remembered the sweet, smiling face of the " Belle of the Mountains." It came to save — to woo and win him from the dangerous precipice on which he was treading. He gently lifted the recumbent form of the fair Pennie, and said : " You once possessed my undivided affections, but now my heart is irrevocably fixed on another." A STORY OP THE CRUEL WAR. 117 Pennie's whole manner instantly changed. She sprang to her feet and stood silent a moment, and then said, in a voice which Edward scarcely recognized : '' You love another." " Yes," replied Edward, " there is one in the sunny South who possesses my undivided aifections. You are dear to me on account of past associations, and I still remember mj^ first love. Your recent kindness has placed me under new obligations, but I have no heart to give. If you love me, for my sake and for your own, try and forget the past ; then, after a moment, he added : "' Under these circumstances, I think we should part as soon as possible." Pennie proudly walked out of the room without utter- inor another word. The darkness veiled her countenance, but could Edward have seen the fierce and contending passions which marred her beautiful face, he would have trembled for the consequences. " The ruling passion, be it what it will, The ruling passion conquers still." 118 THE SUNNY LAND J CHAPTEE XY. Sad Intelligence at Chola. It will be remembered that Lena Eston, the beautiful '^ Belle of the Mountains," had heard first, by means of a letter addressed to her father, that Edward Ashton was about to be married to a very accomplished lady — that this report had been confirmed by a stranger, who had arrived at "Chola" on the same day, — that Hiram Pike soon afterwards came to Eavenwood and paid his respects to the object of his recent love, and met with a signal re- pulse ; upon which he left that place, vowing vengeance against those who had thwarted his purposes. For some months after the occurrence of these events, everything moved on quietly at " Chola," and nothing happened to mar the peace and repose of that small fam- ily circle, except rumors of the bloody conflict about to be inaugurated. When the war opened, Lena had heard nothing definite from Edward, Some vague reports had reached her, from time to time, relative to his expected marriage with the " Belle of Two Cities," which were of a nature to create in her mind, many doubts and fears. During this period, Yenie rarely ever spoke of Graham, but she had recently grown much more grave, quiet, and sedate. Some secret trouble, which she buried deep in her own bosom, seemed to prc}^ upon her mind, and had the effect of often render- ing her unhappy. One day when the two cousins were alone, a letter ar- A STORY OP THE CRUEL WAR. 119 rived, addressed to Lena Eston. It was inclosed in a neat, white envelope, and bore the post-mark of Nashville, Ten- nessee. ^ "Who can this be from?" she exclaimed. " Open it and sec/' cried Yenie, impatiently. "Can it be from ? " She did not speak the name, but broke the seal. Edward was its author, who informed her he had raised a comjDany and entered the service in defence of his inva- ded State, and that it would be impossible to visit " Chola" according to his promise, and that he hoped she would excuse him for presuming to address her by letter. Her spoke in eloquent language of his love, and told her, in conclusion, that her image was deeply engraved on his heart, and could never be effaced. She read this letter through with smiles and tears of joy. She had always believed Edward true and honora- ble, but every doubt was now removed. She could no longer suppose that he could prove false, since his own words had again assured her of his undying affection. Lena would now have been excessively happy, but the thought would obtrude itself into her mind that he might perish in battle ; but she soon dismissed these sad forebo- dings of coming evils, and, leaving her cousin alone, she hastened to her father, to whom she handed the letter, with- out any comment whatsoever. He perused it carefully, and then remarked : " I like its tone." " You now think him innocent," she said, eagerly. "I believe it, dear," he kindly replied; "but time will prove all things ; " then, after a moment, he added — " Be not too sanguine, my daughter. We may all ex- pect trials and crosses in this world, and every one should be prepared to endure afflictions. We may lie down to slumber in the bright sunshine of heaven, but awake amid the fiercest storms of life. The longer I live, the 120 THE SUNNY LAND) itiore I see of the vanities of earth, the more I am im- pressed with the truth of those lines I sometimes have heard you sing — "This world is all a fleeting stow To man's illusion given, The smiles of joy the tears of woe Deceitful shine, deceitful flow, There's nothing true but heaven." This unexpected letter had the effect of rendering Lena comparatively happy and contented. During the succeed- ing fall she frequently saw Edward's name chronicled in the daily journals as the leader in some brilliant enterprise. She read these accounts with becoming pride, yet they af- forded her no real pleasure, as she could not forget that he was continually in danger, and might at any time be cut down in the midst of his course. Thus slowly wore away the summer and fall of 1861, during which period notices in regard to this individual appeared in the public journals ; but after the retreat of the Confederate army to Corinth, he seemed to have sud- denly disappeared from the stage of action. One day a man dressed as a Confederate soldier, pre- sented himself at Mr. Eston's door, where he was met by Mrs. Buree, who had a natural antipathy to grey. Sh€> inquired in a harsh tone, what he desired. "A young lady," said the soldier, with a polite bow. " TVhat's your business ? " she asked, sharply. " My business is with a young lady." " What do you want ? " said Mrs. Duree, somewhat crustily. "Nothing, upon my honor, but to speak a moment to the lady," "To whom?" " Miss Ardin ; I think that is the name." " What about ? " she said, impatiently. " Private business." A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 121 The lady in question now made her ai^pcarance, and Mrs. Duree retired haughtily, supposing she had been spending her time to no purpose, with some rebel scamp. Yenie recognized behind the grey uniform, Patrick Me- gram, who was well known in the neighborhood, having resided in the same vicinity with Joseph N"ewell, previous to the commencement of the war. He now unrolled a package and handed her a letter, which she instantly broke open and read — " 1° writing to you I am performing a painful duty. When I last met with Captain Ash ton I promised him should he fall, that I would inform Miss Eston of the particulars of his death. It was reported some time ago that he was killed in a cavalry fight, which occurred dur- ing our retreat from Tennessee, but, as the enemy held the field, we thought he might only have been captured. * These reports were confirmed from various sources, so that I have almost despaired of ever seeing him ao-ain • yet it is possible that he might have been severely wound- ed, captured, and made a prisoner. JSTot having received intelligence from any source whatsoever, up to this day I communicate to you what I have been able to learn and leave you to judge whether it would be best to let Miss Eston know our worst fears, or await further develop- ments. Should I ascertain anything more, I will write without delay. My kind regards to yourself and friends at " Ghola." May Heaven bless and lead you all safely through these times of trouble. Graham Hardee." Tears gathered in Yenie's eyes as she read this letter, containing such sad intelligence. :N'o selfish thought of her own hopeless love entered her mind. Her feelings were absorbed in pity for her cousin, with whom she was ready to weep tear for tear. After a few moment's reflection, she repaired to the li- brary in search of her uncle, to whom she gave the letter, but before he had finished perusing it, Lena came in and' 122 THE SUNNY LAND; with a woman's quick perception, discovered something unusual had occurred. "What is the matter? " she inquired, turning from her confused cousin to her anxious father, and then continued: " A letter, papa ! who is it from ? " Mr. Eston, seeing that concealment would be impossible, replied : " My daughter, it seems that Edward Ashton is a pris- oner." "A prisoner," she said, mechanically. " Some rumors are afloat that he was killed ! " "Killed ! " she repeated, with a ghastly countenance. " Only an idle rumor, I hope," said the father. Lena extended her trembling hand for the letter, which she hastily read, and then wildly exclaimed : "Dead! dead!! dead!!!" and fell back, fainting into the arms of her cousin. Eestoratives were immediately applied, with some suc- cess, but when aroused to consciousness, another paroxysm of grief immediately succeeded. Mr. Eston became more and more alarmed at the fear- ful consequences to be apprehended. The family physi- cian was hastily summoned, who examined her symp- toms with evident anxiety. He administered some reme- dies and sat down, to see what eftect they would have on the poor desolate and distressed patient, who had received a shock which her nervous system was unable to sustain. It would have moved the hardest heart, to have beheld the lineaments of that beautiful but sorrowful face, which revealed the deep anguish of her soul. !N^otwithstanding all efforts for her relief, she gradually became more and more excited, hot and feverish. Brain fever followed, and she talked incessantly in a wild and incoherent manner. Sometimes she imagined Edward was present, and would address him in the most affectionate words ; then again she saw him bleeding on the battle-field, surrounded by A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 123 cruel foes, at whom she would rave, and then plead with them in piteous tones to spare his life. Thus hour after hour passed away, until weary nature succumbed, and she gradually sank into a deep stupor. During this time Mrs. Duree was passing in and out, and sometimes administering to the wants of the unhappy suf- ferer. She had already received a letter from Hiram Pike, by the under-ground railroad, and that had been mailed at Knoxville, informing her that Edward was alive, cap- tured, and a prisoner. She could with a single Avord, have removed the cause of all this trouble, but she had long since steeled her heart against all pity. She was naturally cold, calculating, unscrupulous and unfeeling, and having made up her mind that Lena should become the bride of Hiram Pike, she would far sooner have seen that fair girl laid in the grave, than reveal the intelligence she possessed. She then imagined that Edward would long be held a prisoner of war — that the advancing Union army would soon reach North Carolina, and that by a little dexterous man- agement, the heart-broken Lena could be induced to ac- cept the offers of her chosen friend, and that, should this be effected, she then could accomplish her ambitious projects. For many successive days, Lena appeared to hover be- tween life and death, and her friends lost all hopes of her recovery. They expected soon to see her follow the dear idol of her affections, now believed to be dead — to that "bourne from whence no traveller returns." 124 THE SUNNY LAND; CHAPTEPv XYl. Adventures of Captain Ashton. Mad ALINE Tudor, a lady of an uncertain age, who had never been successful in securing a husband, resided in the neighborhood of Pennie Eaymond. She was neither young nor prepossessing, and, in some respects, certainly resembled Mary Tudor, the blood thirsty and bigotted Queen of England, whose tastes accorded so remarkably with her ignoble lord, Philip the Second, of Spain, who imagined the surest way to win heaven, was to make a hell on this earth. Madaline was, at this period, something over thirty years of age, but her most intimate friends would not have ventured to express an opinion on this subject. Her face was somewhat wrinkled, though perhaps not with years, her voice was coarse and masculine, and she sometimes suffered under hysterical attacks, which certainly did not improve her natural temperament. She was also pious, after a certain fashion, and frequently returned her fervent thanks to an All-wise Being, that she was neither a cop- perhead, slaveholder or rebel. She sometimes expressed the wish that she was a man, so she might revenge the murder of old John Brown, and had she possessed the power, she would have established the rack and inquisition throughout the South ; but as she was only a woman, she had resolved to become a School Marm, and proposed to visit " the land of darkness," in order to help civilize the benighted African. Such was the confidential friend of A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 125 Pennie Eaymond, to whom she flew, whilst burning with rage and mortification, and took sweet counsel as to how she should be revenged upon the helpless Confederate. As the result of hasty conference between those parties, a letter was addressed to Captain Pike, then at Cincinnati, informing him that a rebel in disguise might be captured on the premises of Mr. Raymond, Miss Tudor, who wrote the letter and signed her own name to it, urged that all haste be made in order to secure this bloody miscreant prowling around in the midst of loyal citizens, and further declared that she considered this man to be a dangerous spy, worthy of a most infamous death. When Pennie had returned home and grown somewhat calm, true to her womanly instincts, she began to regret her hasty action. The longer she reflected the more she was grieved at her own conduct. She soon became almost distracted, and wandered about her room in the 'deepest distress. She dreaded to meet Edward, and shut herself in her own apartment, where she walked the floor with rapid strides, revolving in her mind many expedients to save one she dearly loved from the merciless powerS she had madly invoked. She finally stood before the mirror and gazed at her own beautiful face, now marred by the wildest passions which stirred the depths of her soul. "She clasped her soft silken hands, And then the tears began to stream ; Large bitter tears of anguish fills Her deep remorse was so extreme." Unable longer to endure her agony, she flew to the par- lor and related to her mother what she had done. Ed- ward Ashton was in the piazza, and accidentally over- heard her words. He remained quiet until Mrs. Raymond had left that apartment, then suddenly appeared before Pennie, who started at his approach as if half inclined to make her escape. " Have you betrayed me 2 " he asked, in a grave tone. 126 THE SUNNY LAND; Pennie instantly sprang to her feet, then sank into the chair and burst into tears. " Have you betrayed me ? " he repeated. She knew he had overheard her words, and felt no de- sire to deny the charge. She was then in that mood when she was inclined to confess her faults, and after a moment, she exclaimed in wild accents, " Oh, Edward, forgive me! " Her emotion was so great she was unable to say more, and the young man sat down to hear the avowal she was about to make. She suddenly threw her arms about his neck, and continued in a passionate tone : " Oh, forgive me ! It was all for love — disappointed love. Oh heaven ! I am ruined, hopeless, miserable. I madly betrayed you to your enemies. Perhaps you will be arrested in less than an hour. Oh, the dej)th of my love ! Oh, my wretchedness ! " As Pennie Raymond concluded these passionate words, she sank unconscious into the young man's arms, who gently released himself, and left her on the sofa in a re- cumbent position. A painful expression swept over his pale countenance as he stood gazing at the beautiful wo- man he once had adored, but could never love again. He pitied her with all his heart, but the warm devotion of his youth could never be recalled. Mrs. Eaymond now returned to the parlor, and could easily see that something exciting had occurred. He turned to her, and said : " Your daughter has fainted," and then went to his room, sat down and addressed a brief note to Pennie, in- forming her of his determination to set out for home, and thanking her for the kindness she had been pleased to bestow upon an escaped prisoner. Two hours afterwards the Federal soldiers were ran- sacking this residence in search of the Pebel officer. Pennie had already perused Edward's letter, but she held her peace, determined not again to betray one she wished to protect and shield from danger. A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 127 Edward set out on foot, and travelled on as fast as his strength would permit, but finally became weary, and sat down by the roadside, where he w'ould be concealed by a thick undergrowth. Soon afterwards, two Federal officers rode up to a spring within ten steps of his present position. They alighted, quenched their thirst, drank freely from a flask of brandy, and then sat down to rest. He could easily overhear their words, and listened to the following col- loquy : "I say, Lieutenant Puffaway, how long will we have to await their return ?" evidently referring to the men sent out in search of the escaped rebel. "I'll be dad-seized if I know," he rej^lied, "they may pursue him to the river." " I'll not go another step, I'll be smashed if I do," con- tinued the first speaker. " We must obey orders. Sergeant Fukey." " Orders thunder," he exclaimed, " our orders come from Captain Pike, who has no authority." " He is acting under the command of the Provost Mar- shal." " I'll be dumbfounded if I ride any further to arrest a cowardly, sneaking rebel, because he once gave Pike a scar on his face." " I am tired of this game, any how," said Mr. Puffaway, to which he appended a long list of oaths, and then con- tinued, " I want to get down South amongst the infernal Eebs. Our men don't half fight. It makes my blood boil to think how they hold our armies at bay with a handful of men." We must have our company transferred South, and en- joy the glorious fighting," said Sergeant Fukey, and then sang out, " where we can have our share of the plunder, booty and beauty." "I wish w^e could come across that Eeb. Hiram is so anxi- ous to have him taken. I'd like to see him overhauled." 128 THE SUNNY LAND,* " I would be pleased to crop bis ears," continued bis companion. " Tbe impudent scamp bas been up bere fly- ing around Pennie — my own sweet Pennie — my darling Pennie," and tben, after a moment, be added : " Mind, we are to drop bim by tbe way. Tbe Captain said not to bring bim in as a prisoner." " He must be a brazen-faced scamp," said tbe Lieuten- ant. " A brazen-faced rebel tbat ricbly deserves bemp," added bis companion. Edward, wbo bad overbeard all tbey bad said, observed tbat tbey bad unbuckled tbeir belts and laid aside tbeir navy pistols before tbey bad lain down on tbe green grass, and be now formed tbe bold design of capturing tbem, and tbus providing bim self witb a borse upon wbicb be migbt escape. Before tbey were aware of it, be bad reacbed tbeir arms, and was ready for tbe conflict. Tbey sprang to their feet instantly, wben be presented tbe pis- tols and exclaimed : " Surrender, or you are dead men." Tbe surprised officials stood trembling in speecbless astonisbment, frightened half out of their wits, at a loss what to do in this emergency. After a moment, Edward added : " If either of you move, I will put a ball through you instantly." " Who are you ? " stammered out Lieutenant Puff'a- way. " Tbe man you desired to see, the proscribed rebel you are so anxious to capture, whose ears you have threatened to take off. If you live to see Captain Pike, please give him my respects." *' So you are the rebel," said the trembling lEr. Fukey. " Yes, rebel. I glory in the name rebel. Washington was a rebel patriot.*' " Please, Mr. Eebel," said Sergeant Fukey, " don't hold A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 129 that loaded 2:)istoI so near my breast, for it might acciden- tally go off and do some harm." "His majesty, King Abraham, would not lose a valua- ble soldier if it should," remarked Edward, and after a moment, he continued : "I have concluded to give you a chance for your lives." " What ! " they exclaimed, eagerly. " Do you see a walnut tree at the side of the road, near a quarter of a mile from this place?" " Yes," they both replied. " Kow, you shall go scot free, provided you can run to it in two minutes." "We will try it," said Sergeant Fukey, " if you will promise not to shoot." " You need not fear, for I have no thought of wasting ammunition as long as you obey orders. These horses and pistols I confiscate in the name of the Confederate States. This I have a perfect right to do, as ive are ac- knowledged to be armed belligerents. Now, run for dear life." The captured officers needed no second bidding to flee, but instantly took to their heels. A smile broke over Ed- ward's countenance at the ridiculous scene they were enacting, but it was only for a moment he could enjoy it; for immediately afterwards he perceived the returning Federals approaching in the opposite direction. He in- stantly mounted the best horse, and struck into a cross- road, followed by a yelling pack of Yankees. It was now a race for dear life, and much depended on the endurance of their animals. Edward turned to the left at every road that permitted, and finally regained the thoroughfare he had left in order to avoid the Federals. The contest now began in earnest. Pursuers and pur- sued went thundering on, over hill and dale, by farm and country seat. It was a swift race, in which neither party lost a single movement. 6* 130 " THE SUNNY LAND ; A new danger suddenly appeared. A company of Federal cavalry had halted, and were resting at the roadside; some of them blocked his way, and could easily stop his headlono- fliorht. Seeing no other alternative, he dashed into the midst of the astonished blue-coats. As he passed, he narrowly escaped many sabre strokes, and a number of shots were fired, which whistled harmlessly over his head. He saw with increasing alarm, that he would certainly be captured if he remained on his failing horse, and began to think of deserting it and trying to make his escape on foot. He looked in vain for a thick wood or deep ravine that might afford him some protection against the enemy. It seemed that he must again fall into the hands of the Yankees, when, to complete his misfortune, his horse sud- denly blundered, threw him from the saddle, and left him prostrate on the ground, apparently at the mercy of the Federals, who raised a yell of triumph, and dashed for- ward to secure the fallen foe. He was somewhat stunned by the fall, but sprang to his feet as a number of balls whistled by his head, and turned to flee in the direction of a neighboring woodland. " Halt ! " cried the advancing Federals. Edward had reserved the loaded pistols, which he had that da}' captured, for whatsoever emergency might arise, and the moment had arrived when he must act in self de- fence. As a Federal soldier took deliberate aim, he has- tily fired, struck him in the arm, and probably thus saved his own life. Again he discharged his weapon, and brought the foremost horse and rider to the earth. He now fled, followed by a shower of bullets, and reached the neighboring thicket in safety. He rapidly passed through a dense undergrowth, entered a forest, and was successful in eluding all his pursuers. He spent that night in a dreary woodland. It was cloudy, dark, and rained without intermission. He was wet, cold and hungry, but he willingly bore all these suf- A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 131 ferings, rather than endure the horrors of a Northern prison. These long, sleepless hours finally passed away, and the light of a new day appeared, when he advanced to the edge of the forest, and learned that he was near the land- ing he wished to reach, but discovered that it was guard- ed. He immediately set out down the river, keeping as much as possible under the cover of the forest, and on the following day succeeded in crossing over into Kentucky. It is not our purpose to follow Edward through the wonderful adventures which now ensued. He was cap- tured and imprisoned in the interior of that State, but after some months, made his escape. He then fell in with an independent company of mounted Confederates, and being unable to proceed direct home, remained with that body. The captain in command of it was killed in an en- gagement soon afterwards, and Edward was immediately selected as their leader. He accepted this position for a short period, and began a series of movements to the great annoyance and injury of the enemy. Early in the following spring, the advance of the Fed- eral army made it necessary that they should give up that portion of Kentucky, and he slowly retreated towards East Tennessee. A few days afterwards he reached the foot of the Cumberland Mountains and halted in a strong position, well fortified by nature. On that same afternoon a couple of secret emissaries, on their way to Knoxville, were captured with a large number of letters, amongst which there was one directed to Mrs. Adaline Buree, Eavenwood, North Carolina, which read as follows : "Yours of last month has been received. I am sorry to hear that Miss E. took the supposed death of her rebel lover so much to heart. Hope she will soon recover. I send this letter by underground rainoad^ and it will be mailed at Knoxville. I expect to set out for that place in 132 THE SUNNY LAND; a few days on a secret missioD, and will then write again. I am at a loss to know what became of dead Beh. after his escape across the Ohio. Do not let it be known that he is alive." , :?;*:»: ^ There was no name attached to that note, but Edward was confident it emanated from Hiram Pike. He saw by its date that it had been delayed some three weeks, and thought it probable that his bitter enemy had already crossed the mountains. He knew by its contents that this Yankee Captain had been playing a deep game, in order to win the hand of "the Belle of the ^Mountains," and he re- solved to hasten on to Knoxville and thwart all his vil- lainous schemes. An hour afterwards, three persons, dressed as citizens, were brought into the presence of Captain Ashton. One of these was Hiram Pike, Edward's implacable enemy. ''How is it," said Edward, "that you are here in citizens' dress?" " I am not now connected with the army," he meekly replied. " What brought you here ? " " I am in search of a sick friend," he replied. " Have you any evidence that you are not a spy, bound for East Tennessee ? " " I told you that I am not connected with the army," he answered, evasively. " Once," said Edward, " when I was a prisoner, you en- deavored to have me murdered. Again, in Ohio, you sent a squad of soldiers to arrest and kill me. You have proved my persistent enemy, without cause, but I will not retaliate," then, after a moment, he added, " here is a letter which requires some explanation." Hiram received with a trembling hand the note ad- dressed to Mrs. Duree, and pretended to peruse its con- tents. He imagined that he would be immediately hung as a spy, unless he could save himself by some desperate expedient. A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAr/ 133 The prisoner had before observed that only two guards remained, and began to weigh his chances of escape. lie had a loaded pistol concealed in the leg of his boot, which his captors had overlooked, and he was much tempted to shoot his dreaded enemy, and then flee for his life. As Edward stooped to gather up a letter which lay at his feet, Hiram Pike drew the pistol and fired. The next moment he dashed over the prostrate form of his hated rival, and rushed down the steep and almost impassable mountain side. He soon reached a deep ravine overhuno- with laurel, and disappeared from the view of the aston- ished Confederates, 134 THE SUNNY LAND J CHAPTEE XYII. A Happy Reunion at Montvale. It is the business of professed teachers in Israel to preach the everlasting gospel of peace, and to point out to erring men, the road which leads to a happy immortal- ity ; and it is a lamentable fact that many ministers, re- presenting various denominations in the so-called loyal States, forsook their holy calling, during the recent war, and may justly be held accountable for much sectional strife which then prevailed. They descended fi'om their position as ambassadors of reconciliation, to the level of common demagogues ; they wallowed in the filth and mire of party spirit, and neglected to keep their garments " un- spotted from the world." They turned from the precepts they had long inculcated, to stir up strife between neigh- bors, and frequently profaned the Lord's Day by delivering passionate harangues and bitter phillippics against their brethren of the South, because they claimed the inherent right of self-government. They labored to arouse the worst passions of the people by appealing to their preju- dices ; made broad their philacteries, stained with human blood, and considered themselves competent " To ride on the whirlwind, and direct the storm." They displayed a gross, perverted and vindictive spirit, inimical to true Christianity, and in open violation of the great law of love. They ignored the principles of peace, denounced brotherly kindness as treasonable, omitted "the A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 135 weightier matters of faith," gave themselves up to "bitter- ness, wrath, malice, and evil speaking," tortured the Word of God to prove the soundness of their bloody doctrines, demonstrating by their conduct, " The narrow soul Knows not the God-like glory of forgiveness." They were strangers to that charity which "suffereth long and is kind," blinded by prejudice and so overcome by the evil propensities of their perverted natures ; that they despised the brethen whom they had deeply injured : again demonstrating — " It is the wit and policj of sin To hate the men we have abused." There were some ministers in the l^orth who stood firm against the waves of the popular delusion which then swept over the land, and amongst those that bowed their heads to the storm, all were not alike guilty. Some were delu- ded fanatics, who imagined they were honoring God by p>reaching foul murder, whilst others were but " wolves in sheeps' clothing," who wished to gain notoriety. Happy, indeed, will be the time when all Churches shall learn their true mission : when ministers will alone preach the gos- pel, when ecclesiastical assemblies will "render iinto Cffisar the things that pertain to Caesar," and when " blind guides " will be muzzled, and cease their wicked, unchrist- ian and abominable tirades against those who do not ao-ree with them on national and political questions. It was in the beginning of July, we would introduce them into the dwelling of the Eev. Milton Eankin, then making an humble country seat a few miles from Knox- ville, his temporary home. He sat resting his elbow on a table ; an unfinished manuscript lay before him, and some theological books and periodicals were at his side, bearino- evidence of having been much used. Early in life he had received a thorough education, and 136 . THE SUNNY LAND ; his mind was well versed in all moral, theological and po- litical questions. He was kind, affable and always ready- to do good. He had endured many trials, and came out of the furnace purified. A lovely daughter, in the first bloom of womanhood, had pined away and died ; and re- cently an only son had perished whilst nobly battling against the invaders of his native State. In the midst of all his sorrows, he did not despair, and was enabled to say, '' The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away : blessed be the name of the Lord." This venerable Teacher in Israel had long been pastor of a Church in West Tennessee. Here he had possessed every worldly comfort that heart could desire, and was loved, respected and esteemed ; but when the invader reached that region, this house was seized for military purposes ; he was forbidden to preach " a gospel of peace ; " his prop- erty was destroyed, and he was finally arrested without cause, and sent through the lines as an obnoxious Eebel. He remained seated in the same position, until the door opened, and a young man entered, wearing the uniform of a Confederate officer. " I suppose you do not remember me," he said. " My name is Edward Ashton." ''Edward Ash ton! " exclaimed the grey-headed minis- ter, as he extended his hand; "I am indeed happy to meet with the son of the best friend I ever possessed." "Years have passed away since I sat under the sound of your voice," continued Edward. " Yes, many years," repeated the aged minister. "Years full of trouble," then added, abruptly: "You are thin and pale." " Yes," repeated Edward ; " I have recently been ill, and for some months have been exposed to many hardships." Edward now related the manner in which he had been captured, made his escape, and finally reached East Ten- nessee; passing lightly over some of his wonderful ad- A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 137 ventures. When he came to speak of Captain Pike's at- tempt to take his life at the Cumberland mountain camp, he said, " I avoided the ball by falling flat on the ground, and he instantly dashed over me, no doubt, supposing he had accomplished his design. I sprang up and ran to the brink of the precipice, as he entered a deep ravine and disappeared." Mrs. Rankin, whom Edward remembered with pleasure, now came in, and joined in the conversation. She was intelligent, mild, generous and unassuming, exerting a strong influence for good in the circle of society in which she moved. Edward was pressed to remain some time, and to go Avith them to Montvale Spring, where they intended to spend several weeks. As his health was feeble, he finally con- cluded to accept the kind invitation, and on the following day they proceeded to that well known summer resort. It was late on the following morning after they had reached the Springs when Edward awoke; and at breakfast he did not recognize a single acquaintance but Mr. Eankin and his lady. That day proved hot, sultr}^ and disagreeable, for which reason he kept quiet until about sunset, when a refreshing breeze sprang up, and he concluded to take some exercise in the open air. He first walked to the fountain, renowned for its medi- cinal properties, drank of its healing waters, and then be- gan to ascend an abrupt eminence, whose summit was covered with vine-clad arbors. He soon reached the high- est point, and stood gazing at the merry groups of ladies and gentlemen promenading in the park below, apparently as light-hearted and free from care, as if they were not surrounded with all the perils of war. It was now quiet eve — an hour for contemplation — when we love to recall the past and dream of the future. Edward began to muse on the events of " other years ; " to dwell on the joys ^of childhood, youth and manhood, 138 THE SUNNY LAND; which fell on his heart like the calm melody of distant music — sweet and mournful to tiie soul; and then followed the smiling image of the " Belle of the Mountains," whose charms could never be forgotten. From the day when fair Helen aroused all Greece to arms, and carried on that fierce contest which laid Troy in ruins; from the period when Cleopatra, the proud, haughty and voluptuous Queen of Egypt, won the heart of Anthony " by charms irresistible," and involved the JRoman Empire in a bloody civil strife, beauty has reigned in the hearts of men, sometimes leading them on to fame, honor and immortality; sometimes directing their feet in the paths of peace and happiness, and then again marking out for them a fearful destiny. Beauty, like the luminary of heaven, dispenses its beams far and wide over mankind, charming, winning and controlling the suj^posed "lords of creation," who are slow to acknowledge the sceptre to which they bow in humble reverence. At the same time, it must be remembered that the reigrn of beauty is evanescent, unless coupled with a -well culti- vated mind, a good disposition, warm affections, and a tender, virtuous heart, '"Tis the stainless soul within That outstands the fairest skin." Edward's reflections were cut short by some approach- ing party. He turned his head and perceived three ladies advancing, then half concealed by the clustering vines. He first saw Yenie Ardin ; and the next moment Lena Es- ton, emerged into full view, but oh! how changed she now appeared to Edward. She was pale, sad and dejected. Lena's eyes fell on Edward and she started back, as if some fearful apparition had suddenly made its appearance. She had long mourned for him as dead, but there he stood smiling in her pathway. " Edward Ashton ! " exclaimed Yenie. A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 139 His heart was too full for utterance, but he advanced and took them by their hands, and fondly said : " This is more happiness than I anticipated. May I call you my own ? " he continued, as he clasped in his arms the blushing " Belle of the Mountains." ****** Let the curtains fall on this joyful re-union — this scene far too holy, pure and sacred, to be exposed to the gaze of a heartless and sneering world. Their happiness was alone marred by the sad thought that they would soon be parted again by the ruthless hand of a relentless war. 140 THE SUNNY LAND J CHAPTEE XYIII. Chickamauga, or River of Death. The country around Chattanooga is one of the fairest regions beneath the sun. It is generally fertile, and shroud- ed in dense forests, broken here and there with extensive farms, and variegated by high hills, abrupt precipices, and lofty mountains. Here, too, was the home of "Plain innocence; Unsullied beauty; sound, unbroken youth ; Health ever-blooming ; unambitious toil ; Calm contemplation, and poetic ease." The Tennessee Eiver, now rendered forever memorable in the annals of the Eepublic, flows through this picturesque region, where the western armies were marshalled in the fall of 1863, and long struggled for the mastery. It was here that distinguished commanders opposed each other, with every art and stratagem known to modern warfare. They alternately advanced and retreated, marched and counter- marched ; playing the most extraordinary games, on a vast chequer-hoard dotted over with bayonets, and glistening with all the panoply of war. Here heroes met, fought, and fell, whose names were soon forgotten, except by a few weeping friends. Such has ever been the fate of cruel war. The great mass of people mingle in the strife, and freely pour out their blood. They strive manfully to win the victory, but do not live to share in the triumph. " They die unknown, unwept, and unsung." A STORY OP THE CRUEL WAR. 141 The da}- on which the well contested battle of Chicka- maiiga was fought, now approached — a day which made unnumbered widows and orphans — a day which caused many tears to be shed, and filled the whole land with mourning. War is but splendid murder: but barbarous human butchery. On the night preceding this bloody conflict, Major Har- dee sat at a camp-fire, indulging in a long train of reflec- tions, and near him was an aged Colonel, resting his weary limbs after the labors of the day. He leaned back against a decayed log, fixed his eyes thoughtfully on the blazing wood, and then said, in a quiet tone : " Major, there is a hot day before us/' " I expect we will soon have a general engagement " replied Major Hardee. ' Col. Hastings lighted his pipe, and then continued, in a grave tone : "I am an old man: I have endured much; but I am willing to suffer much more, before submitting to Yankee rule. They drove me into the army, by a long process of unmitigated cruelty ; they destroyed my property, and then banished me, together with my wife and two daughters, from my native State, and made us houseless wanderers in a strange land." The aged Colonel sat with clenched hands and a con- tracted brow, as he proceeded to relate his grievances, but he finally became calm,- and said, in a grave and mourn- ful voice : "Something seems to tell me that to-morrow will be my last fight, and that before another sun shall set, my un- happy wife and daughters will be alone, in the midst of this cruel war." " I think we will be victorious in the approaching en- gagement," said Graham. "I believe we will," said the Colonel, mournfully, "but what will it profit us, when even our victories are slowly 142 THE SUNNY LAND ; jet surely exhausting all our resources. The J^orthern people can waste the men ; they are becoming rich, and can afford to continue the contest, but we have no soldiers to sj^are." Col. Hastings now spread out his blanket, and soon fell into a deep sleep. Graham remained alone,thinking of the horrors of the wearisome war, and longing for a return of peace. He next thought of Jennie Wilson, his affianced, from whom he had long been separated, and lastly came the bright image of Yenie Ardin. He heard an advancing footstep, turned his head, and his eyes rested on the features of a friend he believed had perished in battle. He instantly sprang to his feet, and exclaimed : " Edward Ashton ! Is it possible ? " They shook hands, embraced, and then sat down to give each other a hasty account of their respective wanderings and adventures. After conversing some time, Graham said: " I wrote to Yenie Ardin, that you were believed to be dead. I suppose Miss Eston thinks it true.^^ " She has had evidence to the contrary," replied Ed- ward. " I parted with her at Montvale, a few weeks ago," and then added: "Yenie Ardiu was there." " As sweet, and happy, and smiling as ever," said Graham. " As fair as ever," replied Edward, thoughtfully, " but perhaps not so happy." " I am sorry I ever met that lovely girl," continued Gra- ham, in a sad tone. " She loves you," was the pointed reply. '• I hope not," said Graham, " for I am bound to an- other. It would greatly increase my misery to know that she also loved in vain." They soon afterwards lay down together on a blanket. A STORY or THE CRUEL WAR. 143 and fell into a deep sleep, perchance to dream of loved ones far awAy. A multitude of war-worn veterans were slumbering on this tented field — taking their last repose, before they would rest in the long dreamless sleep of death. The night passed away, and early dawn appeared. The soldiers awoke at the first signal, and prepared to meet the stern realities of that fearful day. Edward bade fare- well to his friend and repaired to his own company of mounted men. The regiment to which he was attached was soon ordered forward, but had not advanced far, until they were saluted by a terrific fire, from a neighboring hill. They gradually fell back, as the enemy advanced, and were finally ordered to the rear, where they long re- mained, in full view of a considerable portion of the bat- tle-field. Now the battle of Chickamauga, or river of death, as its Indian name signifies, began with increased fury. The hostile coherts advanced, with firm, unwavering ranks, and stood in grim array on the uneven banks of that dark and gloomy stream, whilst " High up in the air the vulture soars, Wond'ring the while, the deep-toned thunder roars ; And dim smoke circles through the air Like winged giants riding in the gale. >if * * * * * * * * * The strong battalions of the haughty foe, Like surging billows, moved to and fro, Charge and retreat, then onward charge again, With fearful yell, but charge and charge in vain. Firm as a rock on ocean's storm-beat strand, The solid ranks of Southern soldiers stand ! A fiery sheet rolls from their lines, while loud Artillery throws out its sulphurous cloud, And screaming shells go whistling thro' the air." The roar of the conflict increased, as the day advanced. Battery after battery opened, with deafening peals, and the thunder of battle made the surrounding hills quake and tremble. It was awful, grand, and sublime, beyond all des- 144 THE SUNNY LAND ; cription,to behold these furious combatants, as they met in wild affray, where heroes were struggling for the mastery. Anon ! the artillery burst forth with redoubled fury, and every neighboring eminence was wreathed in smoke and flame. Peal after peal, followed without intermission — death shots whistled through the air in ceaseless showers — whole ranks sank to rise no more — still on they press- ed, charged, mingled, and fell, in one promiscuous heap. " Louder swelled the battle cry ; Flaming sword and flashing eye Light the field where freemen die, Death or Liberty." The day began to wane, but the roar of battle had not ceased. Thousands had perished, but the wearied hosts yet grappled for victory. Finally a shout of triumph an- nounced that the Yankees were falling back, and a multi- tude of horsemen charged upon the retreating hosts, but here they found no Manassas rout, but veteran foes, terrible even in defeat. Edward was ordered to lead his company through a narrow defile, make a long circuit, and, if possible, destroy a certain bridge in the rear of the enemy. After consid- erable fighting, he reached the desired point, but found it guarded by a strong force, and saw, at a glance, he could not possibly accomplish the enterprise. The next moment a masked battery opened on his small band, a most destruc- tive fire, and an overwhelming force of mounted Federals cut off his retreat. The Confederates dashed upon the enemy with a most unearthly yell, determined to make their escape, and a terrible hand-to-hand fight ensued. It proved a short but bloody conflict. Edward, at the head of a few brave men, cut his way through his numerous assailants, but found a fresh force ready to cut off all retreat. Being determined not to surrender, he again plunged into the midst of the Federals, and mingled in the wild affray, dealing his well-aimed blows A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 145 right and left, until ho received a minic-ball in his side. The next moment horse and rider liiy bleeding on the earth. * * * * ^ ^ :(; We will now go back and follow Major Hardee through this memorable battle. Sometime in the afternoon Col. Hastings received orders to charge a Federal battery in their front. This command was nobly executed. The regiment moved forward, ascended the rising ground through a hail storm of shot and shell, and was soon in possession of the enemy's guns. A minute had scarcely elapsed when they were opened upon from a neighboring eminence, and every experienced eye saw that their present position was untenable. They soon afterwards received orders to drive the enemy from this jDOsition at the point of the bayonet. Col. Hastings calmly remarked, as he surveyed the hill bristling with bayonets, '' We can try, but it will be our last battle." His words proved prophetical, for as he led his brave followers towards the foe, he was struck by a shell, and instantly expired. The command now devolved upon Major Hardee, who, seeing the men waver, threw himself at the head of the column, which then moved forward through a terrific fire to the cannon's mouth, and in a few moments, they were again victorious. They were not properly sustained in this new position and the Federals made a sudden movement, which cut them off entirely from their own arm}^ A few minutes after- wards a strong force of the enemy advanced to drive them from the heights they had so valiantly won, when a dread- ful fight ensued. A mere handful of Confederates, de- prived of all succor, and left entirely to their own resources, instead of surrendering, as might have been expected, turned on their numerous assailants every gun they could man, and poured into their dense ranks a murderous fire. As the Federals advanced, they worked each instrument 7 146 THE SUNNY LAND; of death with redoubled energy. Every commissioned officer except Graham Hardee had been killed, and more than half of their number had been slain, yet they still grappled with the foe, and held in bold defiance this blood- stained eminence, whose summit was wreathed in sulphur- ous smoke and flame. Again and again had the Federals been led to the charge and compelled to retreat. The carnage was dreadful — the hill side was covered with dead, and slippery with human gore. One more effort was now made by the discom- fited enemy, and this time it proved successful. Major Hardee fell bleeding on a promiscuous heap of the dead and dying friends and foes. A half hour afterwards the Yankees were compelled to evacuate this position, which had cost them so many val- uable lives, and to join their flying hosts, then retreating to their entrenchments at Chattanooga. A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 147 CHAPTEE XIX. Prison Life at Johnson's Island. When Major Hardee had partially recovered from the swoon occasioned by the loss of blood, he found himself a prisoner in the hands of the enemy. He had already been carried to the rear, and two field surgeons had just com- pleted the examination of his wounds after having appro- priated to themselves his watch and other valuables. The first words which fell upon his ears, proceeded from the principal surgeon, a coarse, brutal and unfeeling wretch, who said : " A devilish bad case," which declaration he enforced with a profane oath. "Perhaps he can be saved," said the assistant surgeon. " What's the use ? " exclaimed the first speaker, to which he appended another oath. " To test our skill," replied the assistant. "Let him die, it Avill save hemp at the end of the war," replied the unfeeling wretch. " I don't care what becomes of the Jlebel cuss," contin- ued the assistant, " but I am going to tr}'- my hand at lift- ing that artery." " Go to work, there is not a moment to spare," replied the first surgeon. " All right," said the assistant, drawing up a case of sur- gical instruments. " Wait until he is dead, when the operation will be more easily performed," continued the first. 148 THE SUNNY LAND; The assistant surgeon now began the operation, and soon succeeded in securing the bleeding artery. He only, had time to mutter a commendation of his own skill, when the hair-brained Marvel Puffaway, now ranking as a Lieu- tenant, came running as if he had been pursued by a thous- and demons, and wildly exclaimed : " Drive on the ambulances — drive for your lives — our men are retreating — the Eebs are coming." A few wounded Confederates, including Graham Hardee, were unceremoniously tossed into the wagons. "Be quick," cried Lieutenant Puffaway, "or we are gone suckers ; " the next moment he lifted his eyes and perceived the advancing Confederates. " Ugh ! " he groaned, with chattering teeth. '-' Oh, heavens, there they come — whip — -drive off like light- ning " — all of which exclamations were interspersed with numerous oaths. The Lieutenant, accompanied by the blustering surgeon, now mounted their horses and rode off like Jehu, towards Chattanooga, followed by the whole train of ambulances. It was beginning to grow dark, and they had not proceed- ed far, until they met a small band of Confederates, who had made their escape from that ill-fated exjDedition to burn the bridge. They were covered with dust and blood, and only intent on reaching the Southern lines. Patrick Megram, who was the acknowledged leader of this company, rode in front and was compelled to halt, as the road was completely blocked with ambulances. The next moment he saw Lieutenant Puffaway spring from his horse and attempt to escape on foot. " Halt ! you cowardly thafe," said Pat, presenting his pistol. "Don't shoot — I surrender," cried the trembling offi- cer. Patrick Megram now ordered the ambulances which blocked the way to be removed, and then turned to Lieu- tenant Puffaway and said — A STORY OP THE CRUEL WAR. 149 " Hand over your weapons." He obeyed with trembling hands, and the Irishman then continued — " Mount that horse a^ain." The Lieutenant stood trembling, apparently so much frightened that he could not move. ''Mount that horse instantly, you cowardly Yankee fumbler, and don't stand there shaking like you had a fit of ao-ue." The road now being clear, the Confederates proceeded on, and soon reached the main army. They left the ambulances to pursue their way to Chattanooga, hut car^ ried with them Lieutenant Puifaway ; thus giving him an. opportunity of testing the accommodations Of a Southern prison. Major Hardee was taken to Chattanooga and placed in a hospital, in the charge of a man who did not care whether he lived or died. There he lay for many weeks, apparently near unto death, suffering for the want of pro- per nursing, suitable food and medical attention, and this would probably have been the end of his career; but one day an army contractor came into the hospital — who proved to be an old school-mate. He instantly recognized the sufferer, told him that he then resided in Cincinnati, that he was wealthy, and would see that he lacked for nothing. A little money had the desired effect, and Gra- ham now began to rajDidly improve. Some weeks afterwards, this friend obtained leave to take Graham to his residence in Cincinnati, by becoming responsible for his appearance at a Northern prison, as soon as he should regain his health. They immediately left Chattanooga, and a few days afterwards reached the Queen City of the West. Major Hardee was received at the house of his friend with marked kindness, yet he was far from being happy. He could not be contented when an invading army was 150 THE SUNNY LAND; desolating his native land ; when his services were so much needed at home, and when a long and dreary impris- onment seemed inevitable. He felt that he was in the midst of bitter foes, and even the air he breathed appeared to be laden with hatred to the cause he adored. When he mingled with his fellow men, he heard the Southern peo- ple abused; when he walked the streets he was compelled to listen to taunts and jeers, and when he took up a newspaper to read, it was fall of vile misrepresentations. Graham soon learned that freedom was but a name in the so-called loyal States ; that the people were continu- ally watched by prying detectives ; that many had been arrested without cause ; that the ]^orthern bastiles were then crowded with innocent victims who had never even had the form of a trial; that every constitutional right was openly, notoriously and flagrantly violated ; and that the reign of military despotism was complete. The thoughtless populace had stood blindly shrieking Union, whilst robbed of their liberty, and then, like cringing slaves, were hugging their chains and laboring to forge additional fetters for their brethren in the South. The fourth of July arrived — the last day he was des- tined to remain in the Queen City ; a day when every one was expected to drink lager beer and various subtle poisons, in honor of a revolutionized Union — a day when boys are permitted to burn fire crackers and discharge spit devils^ to the great annoyance of all citizens ; a day when young men would become tipsy, and old men as merry as French dancing masters — a day devoted to carousing and bacchanalian revels. The streets were lined with United States flags. Young America crowded the thor- oughfares, and throngs of excited urchins dragged after them the once glorious ensign of our Eepublic, then per- verted into an emblem of oppression. The city sports supported the true blue, and even gay belles demonstrated that they were trooly loil, by disj^laying costly bonnet A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 151 ribbons. Military companies extravagantly dressed, para- ded the streets, and young Abolition orators spouted fire, and proved, to their own satisfaction, that the framers of the declaration of rights had stultified themselves in the eyes of the world, by declaring the bondsmen their equals. It was, indeed, a glorious day — glorious for the boys, who were about to make a bonfire of the whole city ; glorious for orators who could thus prove their loyalty without facing the enemy ; glorious for the light-headed, intoxicated gentry, and glorious for the keepers of rum shops, whose drinking dens were known in this patriotic city as fashionable saloons. The proceedings of this day reminded Graham of Nero, dancing whilst Rome was in flames. He was thoroughly disgusted with this pageantry of military despotism, and his heart sickened at the thought of such madness and folly. A Rebel could not be endured in their midst after these wild orgies, and on that afternoon, he received orders to report immediately to the authorities. Two days afterwards he was landed at Johnson's Island, and crossed that fatal dead line into the prison den, where thousands of brave men were then languishing, and endur- ing more than words can ever portray to the human mind. The Confederates were often unable to support their own famishing armies, and consequently, the captured could not always be properly fed ; but the Federals had no ex- cuse for maltreating prisoners. They boasted that they possessed a superior civilization ; they were growing rich by waging an inhuman war; they had a superabundance of all the necessaries of life, yet thousands suffered for food whilst held in duress. The Government refused to ex- change with the Confederate States, and is alone res^^onsi- ble for the miseries endured. Major Hardee suffered much during his long term of 152 THE SUNNY LAND) imprisonment. Tlie iDhospitable climate and constant confinement seriously affected his health, and he became low spirited, dejected, and was often ready to desj^air. One day he received a letter from a friend residing in Nashville, which informed him that Jennie Wilson, his affianced, was in feeble health; that Edward Ashton was supposed to be dead, and that the Confederates could not much longer sustain the unequal conflict. " How long, O Lord ! " he said, reverentially, " must we endure this cruel imprisonment. Oh ! that we were free to strike one blow for our bleeding country." '' Oh source of mercy, soothe our pains, And break, break the cruel chains." He stood in silence a few moments, reflecting on the suffer- ings of his countrymen, and the valuable lives that had been sacrificed for what he feared would prove a lost cause, and then continued, mournfully : "The hour, the glorious hour will come That consecrates the patriot's tomb." A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 153 CHAPTEE XX. Pennie Raymond Visits the Seat of Wak. When Edward Ashton first returned to consciousness, he was alone with a large number of grinning corpses of those that had been slain in battle, whose ghastly features were only partially revealed by the light of the moon. He was suffering from a number of wounds, the severest of which was a contusion on his head, and endurino- a burning thirst; but he crawled up and managed to reach a canteen of water on the body of a fallen Yankee, which he immediately drained of its contents. After restino- a few minutes, he succeeded in rising to his feet, and stag- gered off without any knowledge as to the present posi- tion of the two armies. Everything was now calm, and a death-like stillness reigned over the battle-field, where thousands had recently mingled in a fierce conflict. All was silent as the grave, and a few short hours had served to convert it into a vast charnel house, where multitudes were sleeping their last long sleep — resting where rude wars would no more dis- turb their repose. They were but so many victims of fa- naticism, murdered in the wicked attempt to enforce the tyrannical doctrine of coercion. When Edward Ashton had proceeded a short distance a voice suddenly broke the stillness of the night. The light of the moon enabled him to see the dim outlines of a Federal picket, and the click of a gun-lock admonished him that he could not retreat. 7* 154 THE SUNNY LAND; " Who are you? " demanded the picket. " A friend that has lost his way," said Edward, in a feeble tone. " An infernal Eeb., I suppose." " Where am I ? " asked Edward. " In the woods ; and you now can consider yourself a prisoner." Edward was compelled to surrender, and was taken back to Chattanooga, where he was guarded for the remainder of that night and a considerable portion of the succeeding day, during which time he suffered exceedingly from his undressed wounds. He was finally sent across the river, where he fortunately fell into the hands of a humane sur- geon, who gave him the attention he so much needed. His wounds j^roved far more serious than he had antici- pated. Symptoms of typhoid succeeded, and he gradually became worse, until it was believed that he could not pos- sibly recover. One day a number of visitors entered the hospital, and Edward observed amongst them the well-known face of the Rev. Obadiah Stanton, who was then conversing with a wounded officer. A fashionably dressed lady next at- tracted his attention, and he muttered half aloud, " Pen- nie Eaymond — impossible — my eyes must deceive me." The next moment he heard her speak to the principal sargeon, and mentally exclaimed: "I will never forget that sweet, but deceptive voice." Only a few seconds had elapsed, when her eyes fell on Edward's pale and haggard face. She seemed suddenly shocked at the unexpected sight, and the color arose on her cheeks as she advanced with a hesitating step. ''Edward," she said, in a low, melting tone. He extended his hand, which she pressed to her lips, and then kissed his feverish brow. "You are wounded," she said, tenderly, and then turned away to an attendant in order to learn his true condition . A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 155 A few moments afterwards she returned to his bedside, wearing a grave face, and said : " It is so fortunate I came to this hospital. I will now see that you are carefully nursed." Before Edward had time to reply, the Eev. Obadiah Stanton came up, recognized the suiferer, and said — " You are wounded, I suppose ? " " Yes." he replied, " and I also have an attack of the fever." '• The way of the transgressor is hard," said the Parson, abruptly. Edward made no rej^ly, and Pcnnie Raymond remarked that the physician had forbidden the patient to talk, hop- ing thereby to prevent an ill-timed and useless lecture. " You are now enduring the righteous judgments of Heaven, for rebelling against the constituted authorities," continued the Parson. " I have only done my duty," said Edward. '•' I advise you to take the oath of allegiance." " Never," he rej)lied, '^ as long as we have an army in the field and a foe to fight." " Eash young man," exclaimed the Parson, with pious horror, " unless you repent you will be overtaken with God's fiercest judgments." He proceeded to deliver a long Union lecture on Bible phraseology, mingled with threats of Divine vengeance. Edward being weak, nervous, and racked with pain, became much excited, and felt exceed- ingly grateful when Pennie Raymond interrupted the dis- course, promised to return again on the following day, and led the obnoxious visitor out of the ho8j)ital. Edward continued to grow worse for many successive days. He was gradually sinking under a slow tyj^hoid fever, which defied all remedies. During this critical period Pennie was unremitting in her attentions, and saw that he lacked for nothing. She would sometimes sit at his couch for hours, observing his symptoms, and cooling 156 THE SUNNY LAND J his parched lips with refreshing beverages. lie finally became deranged, and for a long time, seemed to be hover- ing on the verge of the grave. One afternoon she sat at his bedside, wearing an unusual- ly sad countenance. A silent tear trickled down her fair cheek, a shadow rested on her lovely brow, and sorrow marked every lineament of her beautiful face. Edward nioaned, and began to mutter incoherently, and then she heard him breathe the name of Lena Eston. Her whole appearance instantly changed, and with a contracted brow, she vowed that the " Belle of the Mountains " should never bless that young man with her love. He finally passed the crisis, and began to recover. He had improved considerably, when one day he observed a strange lady enter the hospital and slowly walk through the apartment, apparently scanning the faces of the suf- ferers. She was about twenty years of age, near the ordi- nary height of her sex, and possessed regular features, dark auburn hair, a high forehead, and an attractive coun- tenance. Edward recognized her familiar face, notwith- standing her disguised appearance, and was about to pro- nounce her name, when she placed her finger on her mouth, as a signal that he should remain silent. Miss Annie Linton was well known to Edward, as a firm adherent to the Southern cause. She was able to cope with the Yankees in shrewdness, had voluntarily taken upon herself the part of a spy, and had managed to con- vey much important intelligence into the Southern lines. She sat down near Edward, made some common-place remarks, until she saw that they were alone. " I have been in Chattanooga some days," she said, " and having learned all I desire, I expect to pass the pickets to-night, and proceed to Knoxville. I will only remain there a short time, and then cross over the mountains into the Southern lines." •' You may be captured," said Edward. A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 157 " True,'" she replied, "but this would not detain the in- formalion I possess. Patrick Megram follows my foot- steps, ready to convey everything I have gleaned to the Southern commanders." '• You will soon be at Chola ? " "Yes, if I escape the Yankees; and I will let your friends know that you still live." Then, after a moment, she added, as she arose to her feet, " I must not talk to yoLi any more, lest I should attract the aLteniion of some suspicious Federal." As she turned to leave Edward, she met Pennie Eay- mond. They looked at each other with evident curiosity, and then passed, without uttering a word. Annie walked across the apartment, halted and spoke toa wounded Con. federate. She looked back, saw the " Belle of Two Cities " smooth back Edward's hair, feel his pulse, and then take a seat at the bedside. She then walked out of the hospi- tal, somewhat puzzled with this beautiful creature who appeared to be so attentive to a Confederate prisoner. 158 THE SUNNY land; CHAPTEE XXI. A Secret Alliance. It will be remembered that Captain Pike was wounded in the beginning of the war, and returned to Ohio with an ugly scar on his face, completely disgusted with the mili- tary service. He remained at home, nursing his wrath, until he learned that East Tennessee would soon be in- vaded. He then set out to visit Knoxville in disguise, fell in the hands of Edward Ashton, but made his escape. Sometime afterwards he reached his destination, conferred with the leading Union men, and informed them that the Federal army would soon cross the mountain. He finally learned that Edward Ashton was then at Montvale, basking in the sunshine of Lena's smiles, and hastened to that point, at the risk* of being recognized, determined to secretly destroy his rival, but he did not' find the desired parties. He then returned to Knoxville, cursino; his ill luck, and concluded to remain there until the startling event which he anticipated, would occur. After a few false rumors, the expected Federals crossed the mountains, and advanced towards Knoxville. There was no adequate force in that region to meet the invaders, and all East Tennessee was hastily evacuated. Thus fell into the hands of the enemy, almost without a blow, the great granary of the South. This masterly stroke sever- ed one of the principal arteries which nourished the army at Eichmond, and effectually paralyzed all the succeeding movements of the Confederates. A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 159 Captain Pike, with the full consent of the military au- thorities, induced the Union men of that region to organ- ize independent companies, known as Home Guards, and had them supplied with government arms, by which means a perfect reign of terror was inaugurated throughout East Tennessee. A long and dreary period of darkness now succeeded, during which the most revolting deeds were perpetrated in the name of the Union. The excesses which followed, and the foul atrocities perpetrated against peaceable and unoffending citizens, must forever remain a blot, a stig- ma, on the name of our country. Hiram Pike loved money much more than he did his native land, and like " Butler the Beast," had a natural propensity for precious metal, silver spoons, forks, and other valuables. He then began his operations against peaceable citizens, and by using armed independent com- panies, succeeded in accumulating a large amount of ill- gotten gains; but his pillaging was suddenly interrupted by the advance of General Longstreet, who boldly led his veterans against superior forces, drove the unskilled Burn- side behind his intrenchments at Knoxville, and kept up a regular siege of that place until Gen. Sherman came plundering along the great valley of East Tennessee, and forced the Confederates to retreat. Soon after this period, the military authorities, disgust- ed at the inhuman proceedings of the Home Guards, deter- mined to suppress all lawless organizations, and Captain Pike suddenly found himself without employment. Such was his condition, when one day he met the Eev. Obadiah Stanton in Knoxville. "How are you, my friend?" said the Parson, extend- ing his hand. " In excellent health," replied Captain Pike. " We have been successful, " continued the Parson, chuckling with delight. 160 THE SUNNY LAND J ^' We have coDquered this region," said Hiram, gleefully. " "We have triumphed gloriously," added the Parson, with his usual grin. " The work is not complete," said Hiram. " No," returned the Parson, " our military authorities are far too lenient. The Southern people must be impov- erished and driven from their homes. The few Union citizens and colored j)eople must now govern this country. "What the army leaves undone must be completed by Con- gress." " Do you projDOse remaining here ? " asked Captain Pike. "IsTot permanently. I came through with a view of purchasing some lands. I was accompanied by six ladies, who wished to engage in teaching the colored people, all of whom remained in West Tennessee, and we were joined by another at Cincinnati, who is now at the Bell House. I think she is your acquaintance, for she expressed a de- sire to see you immediately." " What is her name ? " " Pennie Eaymond." " What ! Is she here as a teacher ? Impossible ! " " It is even so." Hiram proceeded to the Bell House, still inclined to doubt the truth of the Parson's words, sent u]) his card, and sat down to await the result. A few minutes only had elapsed when the " Belle of Two Cities " entered, v/earing a captivating smile, spoke to him affectionately, and then began conversing as if they ever had been friends. He was astonished, delighted, and utterly unable to fathom her secret design. Finally he ventured to say : " The Eev. Stanton informed me that you think of teaching the freedmen." " The old idiot," she exclaimed, it will be late when I turn school marm,'^ she continued, with pouting lips. " I will leave that delicious employment for jSTew England A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 161 spinsters. All the truth there is in it," she added, "is, that I had to play off on him in order to reach Knoxville." " Will 3^011 turn spy ? " he asked. " Would I not make a good detective ? " " I doubt it. But this reminds me of a female spy re- cently arrested in this city, whom I visited this morning, in order to learn how much she would pay to be released. She is young, good looking, shrewd and intelligent, hates a Yankee and loves a Eebel." '•' Will she be hung ? " asked Pennie. " No. It would be a disgrace to hang a woman," "So it would," replied Pennie, "but disgraceful af- fairs are fashionable." Then, after a moment, she added: " AVhat is her name ? " " Annie Linton." " Could I see her ? " said Pennie, in a careless tone. " Certainly. She is at a private house, and I will ob- tain a permit, if you wish to pay her a visit." Pennie remained silent a few seconds, and then said, abruptly : '' You love Lena Eston." " Lena Eston?" repeated Hiram Pike, with a heightened color. " You need not deny it." " You love Edward Ash ton," retorted Hiram. "Now for a truce," she continued. " I propose an alli- ance on the basis of mutual assistance." " How could we aid each other? " he asked. " Easily." " Not at present." " You are dull." "Perhaps I am." " Edward Ashton is a prisoner, and sick." " Lena Eston is beyond our lines." " She might be induced to visit East Tennessee." " How ? " he asked, with increasing interest. 162 THE SUNNY LAND; " I will explain to-morrow," she said, as she rose to her feet, thus intimating that the interview was over, for the present, and that he must await the appointed time. ^ ^ 4: ^ :): 4: ^ An hour afterwards, Annie Linton might have been seen in her own guarded room on the second floor, leaning out of a window which overlooked one of the principal thoroughfares in Knoxville, apparently gazing at the citi- zens as they passed and repassed. Finally she let fall an apple, and watched it until she saw it gathered up by a man dressed as an everyday laborer. She smiled, and said to herself, '-'No Yankee will ever see the crumpled piece of paper inside of that apple ; it is safe in the hands of Pat Megram," and then turned away from the window as a lady entered, whom she knew to be the same she had met in the hospital at Chatianooga. " Miss Linton, I presume." she said. '' My name is Pen- nie Eaymond." Annie invited her visitor to be seated without betraying the curiosity she felt, and then remained silent. " 1 think I met you at Chattanooga a few weeks ago," continued Pennie. "You think so," said Annie, evasively, who suspicioned that her visitor had been sent there to entrap her in some way. " I remember your face," added Pennie. " What did you wish to see me concerning?" said Annie, much too shrewd to be led into an open confession, and unwilling to be catechised by a stranger. " You are held as a spy ? " " I am." " My sympathies are with the Confederates, and I have called on you for information. I wish to visit the South on business not connected with the war. Can I reach Ashville, :N"orth Carolina? " " I do not think the Confederates will prevent it, if you will travel by way of the Warm Springs." A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 163 " I believe you arc a friend of Edward Ashton," said Pennie, " and for this reason I will state my object in vis- iting the South. He is now sick ; will probably never re- cover, and is anxious to see a Miss Lena Eston before he dies. I promised him that, if possible, I would send a let- ter through the lines, informing her of his condition, and asking her to visit Chattanooga without delay. I have not been able to convey the desired information, and have concluded to go in person. Now I hope you will favor me with a note of introduction to that lady." Annie Linton was not yet satisfied that all was right, and Pennie was finally compelled to leave without having obtained the desired instrament of writing. Sbe did not give up her purpose, and, aided by Captain Pike, she found other means for its accomplishment. 164 THE SUNNY LAND; CHAPTEE XXII. Ax ExEMv IN Disguise. The Spring of 1864 opened on vast armies, yet grap- pling for the mastery. General Lee, with a greatiy di- minished but veteran force, still bid defiance to the im- mense hosts marshalled around Eichmond. and stood firm as a rock in mid ocean, against which the waves of centu- ries have dashed in vain. A fierce contest was then be- ing waged along the entire Southern coast, where heroes were manfully struggling in defense of their homes, their firesides, of all they held sacred and dear; mounted men fearlessly dashed through the enemy's lines, and plunged recklessly into the midst of a powerful foe, dealing death and destruction to the invaders of their soil. But, notwithstanding this heroic resistance, the Confederate cause was fast sinking under a tremendous pressure. The whole South was desolated with fire and sword, and was bleeding at every pore. Yirginia, the Mother of States and Statesmen, had been swept with the ploughshare of destruction, and could not much longer maintain the un- equal strife. Tennessee, the proud volunteer State, the home of Jackson, lay helpless at the conqueror's feet, ruled by despotic military satraps. This was indeed a dark hour for the Sunny South. The luminary of liberty seemed to be setting in darkness, when a long and gloomy night might be expected. A glorious Government of consent, was about to be subverted ; and coercion, force, and oppres- sion, visited on a subjugated people. A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 165 It was early in the spring, when nature first lays aside the drajDery of mourning, and begins to assume the hues of summer; when the air was pleasant, the buds expand- ing, and the forests assuming a lively green, that we would again visit the home of the " Belle of the Moun- tains." She sat in the piazza, holding in her hand a deli- cateflower, a fit emblem of all earthly pleasures: alike frail, uncertain, and destined soon to pass away; and near her was Yenie Ardin, now somewhat changed by the cares of life. " There was a soft and pensive grace, A cast of thought upon her face, That suited well her forehead high ; The united expression spoke a mind In duty firm, composed resigned." Mi\ Eston had set oat on a visit to his plantations in South Carolina, leaving Mrs. Duree and the two cousins alone at "Chola." "I wish Annie Linton would write again," said Lena, " so that we might hear something more definite, in re- gard to our friends." "I fcar Edward and Graham are both dead," Venie re- plied, and after a moment added, with a sorrowful face: "I am anxious to see another letter, yet I dread to hear again. It may bring sad intelligence." " I trust all will be well," said Lena, hopefully. " It is foolish, I know, to mourn for Graham," said Yenie. " Even if alive, he is nothino- to me." " He loves you," said Lena. " The blonde ! the blonde ! " exclaimed Yenie, as she re- called the words of the mountain sibyl. "Eemember what Edward told me at Montvale. He said that Graham loved you, and that, at some future day, you would be happy." " I must not think of these things," said Yenie, as she wiped away an unbidden tear. "I must endeavor to be patient, and await the revelations of the future." 166 THE SUNNY LAND; They were both silent a few minutes, when Yenie arose and said: " I must visit Mrs. Curley ; she was very sick on yes- terday." "I will remain at home/' replied Lena; "as some one may call, this bright afternoon." " If I should not return before dark, you need not be uneasy," said Yenie, " as Mr. Curley will accompany me home." When her cousin had departed, Lena remained alone, busy with her own reflections. She knew that Mrs. Duree was within, but she had never loved that cold, calculating woman, and could not enjoy her company. She continued in the same place, until it began to grow dark ; then arose and wandered through the dwelling, Avithout seeing the housekeeper; and finally returned to the piazza, hoping that her cousin would soon return. Suddenly she heard a light footstep approaching, and supposed that it was Yenie, but, after waiting impatiently for some time, she began to be alarmed. Again she heard the rustling of a dress, listened a few moments, then turned away, trembling, and walked into the library, where a lamp was shedding its dim rays around the room. She stood at a table, looking over some photographs, endeavoring to become calm, when she again heard a rust- ling sound. A cold shudder ran through her frame, and she turned, to see if she could discover the cause, but she was all alone. She now made an eftort to shake off her fears, and began to chide herself for indulging in what she considered an idle fancy, but she suddenly became impress- ed with the idea that some one was present. She imag- ined that two eyes, possessing a strong magnetic power, were fixed upon her, from the door leading into the hall, and so vivid did these appear, that she hastily turned around, and, to her great astonishment, beheld a lady dressed in black, tall and well proportioned, who advanced and said : A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 167 ^' I wish to see Miss Eston." Lena, trembliog with fear, replied that she was the person sought, and the beautiful woman in black, con- tinued : " Are we alone ? I have something to relate, private and confidential." "You can proceed," replied Lena, much excited. <' My name is Pennie Eaymond," said tbe visitor, as she threw herself into a chair, and assumed a most graceful attitude. She then fixed her eyes on the "Belle of the Mountains," who was yet trembling with vague and un- defined fears. " I have made a long journey, in order to have this in- terview ; and as I came through the lines, and might be arrested, 1 do not wish to meet with any other person." Lena did not know that her visitor had already man- aged to hold a conference with Mrs. Duree, to whom she had brought a long letter from Captain Pike, and now partially reassured, asked : " Why did you wish to see me." " You are acquainted with Miss Annie Linton ? " " Very well," replied Lena. " She is now under arrest, and detained at Knoxville, as a spy." " I am sorry to hear it." " She is probably in no danger, as it would require per- fect barbarians to hang a woman." " The Yankees can produce such men," said Lena. " I have a note addressed to you," continued Pennie, "from Miss Linton, which will explain the object of my visit. It has been written with a pencil," she continued, as she unfolded a small, crumpled piece of paper, " and is scarcely legible." Lena eagerly seized this note, purporting to be from her friend, which was only a forgery, devised by Pennie Eay- mond, held it up near a lamp, and read : 168 THE SUNNY land; ''Edward Ashton is sick, and supposed to be at the point of death. He may possibly live some days, but he is not expected to recover. I saw him, myself, a few .da3'S ago, but I am now in custody, and cannot visit him again. He is at a private residence, and you can reach him by following the Tennessee River road to Chilhowce. My friend. Miss Eaymond, will deliver this note, and give you all necessary information. '* Annie Linton." Lena became excessively pale, as she perused this short epistle, and then sank back into a chair, overcome by the most painful emoiions. Pennie remained silent, until her first outburst of grief was over, and then said : " There are no Federal soldiers in Cbilhowee. but should you accidentally meet with them, I have provided for your safety." " How ? " asked Lena. " Here is a passport I obtained at Knoxvillc, which w^ll afford you ample protection." " My father is absent, and I will have no one to accom- pany me," replied Lena, as she received the passport. " You can obtain a driver for a family carriage, and find some aged lady who will go as a companion." "I must visit him, at every risk," said Lena. " Here is another paper, containing full directions, so you can find Mr. Ashton, as soon as j^ou arrive in Chilho- wee." They were both silent a few seconds, when Lena con- tinued : ^' How did you reach here ? " " I came over the mountains, on horseback, and must set out to return immediately. It is a long journey, but Edward is my friend." " You know him ? " " We met lono; asfo." "You are from Cincinnati," said Lena; "Do you know Hiram Pike ? " A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 169 " I remember a family of that name. Iliram — no, I suppose I never met with that person." " The Pikes I know would not do much fighting,'^ she said, at the same time rising to her feet ; and then added : " I must set out for Knoxville, without delay." Lena now insisted that her visitor should remain until morning, but she declared that she must travel all night, and reach the mountains before daylight. " I will set out for Tennessee, early in the morning," said Lena, sadly. " I wish you a prosperous journey,'^ replied Pennie. " Should I ever have an opportunity, I will be happy to repay your kindness,^' said Lena. Pennie now turned back and, Judas like, imprinted a kiss on Lena's sorrowful face. She then left the deceived and weeping " Belle of the Mountains," sad, mournful, and longing to fly to Edward, and save him, if possible, from the jaws of death, or, if beyond recovery, that she might console him in the hour of deej) tribulation. " In this world, the fondest and the best Are most tried, most troubled and distressed." 8 170 THE SUNNY LAND ; CHAPTEK XXIII. Lena Captured. It was on a bright May day, when a family carriage might have been seen slowly ascending the Smoky Moun- tain, from the North Carolina side of that vast range. The horses were slowly toiling up the rugged and almost impassable road, under a warm sunshine, and showed evi- dent signs of weariness. Finally they reached the summit of these vast hills, near the point where the Tennessee river bursts through the mountains, and then sweeps on down for many miles over eternal beds of granite, until lost in the rich valleys beyond this range. The carriage halted in a refreshing shade. The driver sprang down from his seat, and Mrs. Duree alighted, followed by the '-'Belle of the Mountains," who seemed unusually sad, weary and dejected. They all sat down at a small fountain at the roadside, and partook of a slight repast. Mrs. Duree talked inces- santly, but Lena remained quiet and thoughtful, evidently not inclined to take part in the conversation. A yet higher part of the mountain arose above them, and Lena, desiring to be alone, and observing that it would afford a fine view of the surrounding country, be- gan to ascend it, and soon reached the loftiest summit. Here a magnificent scenery burst on her enraptured vision, and for a few moments, the sorrowful expression passed away from her countenance. Around her lay an unbroken bed of mountains. Here and there arose loftv A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 171 peaks, recently clothed in white mantles of snow, tower- ing one above another, presenting a grand, sublime and imposing spectacle, and nearer aj^peared the smooth sur- face of the bleak " Bald Mountain," without a particle of vegetation, which seemed to pierce the heavens, whilst afar off she could see the white top of '' Thunder Head," glit- tering in the golden rays of a noon-day sun. Lena stood for some time gazing on these gorgeous mountain peaks, and her thoughts gradually arose from the grandeur of the surrounding scenery to the Great Creator, who spake everything into existence, and these sublime words flashed through her mind : "Which removeth the mountains and overturneth them in his anger : shaketh the earth, and maketh the pillars thereof to tremble." Again her eyes rested on some distant hills, where nature assumed the wildest and most fantastic forms, when her thoughts again arose to the Almighty — " Who walketh through the circuit of the heavens; who thundereth marvellously with His voice; who doeth great things; which commandeth the sun and it riseth not, and sealeth up the stars ; which alone spreadeth out the heavens and treadeth upon the waves of the sea; which maketh Arctu- rus, Orion and Pleaides, and the chambers of the South." Now her mind passed from the contemplation of these eternal solitudes of nature and nature's God, and she fixed her eyes on the far off valley of East Tennessee, where one she held exceedingly dear was believed to be near unto death, to whom she was hastening, perhaps, to bid him adieu forever — perhaps to kiss his pale brow for the last time, and, perhaps, to take the final long, lingering look at his lifeless remains. As she thought of these sad things, a total change came over her face, a few moments before radiant with the deep inspiration, drawn from the matchless grandeur and sublimity of the neighboring scenery, and she began to retrace her steps down the mountain brow with dreary forebodings of comino- evil. 172 THE SUNNY LAND; As she thought hoTv lonely and desolate she would be, should her worst fears be realized, she suddenly recalled the following lines : " No eye to mingle sorrow's tear, No lips to mingle sorrow's breath, No tongue to call me kind and dear." This small party again continued their journey, desiring tu leach the first East Tennessee settlements on the river, known as Chilhowee, before they should be overtaken by night. Lena was occupied with her own sad reflections, and Mrs. Duree was so engrossed with the part she had prom- ised to act, that she was not disposed to talk. She was now lashed by a guilty conscience, and half inclined to con- fess every thing, and to warn that innocent girl of her danger, but these feelings were soon succeeded by a firm resolve to remain faithful to Hiram Pike. They finally came to a small log cabin which stood in an isolated spot, in the midst of the mountains. They halted for a few minutes, to quench their thirst at a small fountain, bubbling forth at the side of the road. A man, whom they had before observed, now came forward to meet them, bearing a rifle on his shoulder, and followed by a couple of fierce looking grey hounds. This individual was a singular sj^ecimen of humanity. He was an able-bodied individual, dressed in home made linsey, much rent and patched. He wore long, untrimmed whiskers, and a rude coon-skin cap covered his head. He was barefooted, and instead of a coat, he had on a coarse hunting-shirt, peculiar to this mountainous region. He advanced near the carriage, surveyed each of the travellers in rotation, and then said, in a voice which sounded harsh : " How-dye do." His salutation was politely returned, after which he said to the driver — A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 173 " Got any of the weed ? " "I have," he replied, handing him a i^iece of tobacco. " Eegiilar old Virginia," he said, and then continued : " Are you gwine to the flat woods ? " " To Tennessee," rephed Mrs. Durec. " I guess you are thar now," he said, with a grin, and then added : " It's a hard place down on tother side of the mountains; I just got home from thar. *Dick Snyder' don't care if he never gets thar again." " Is there any fighting there at present? " asked Lena. "Dick Snyder" j)laced the breach of his gun on the ground, and lifting one of his bare feet to the hub of the carriage-wheel, replied : " Fighting like a couple of cats hung up by their tails. I never seed the like in all my born days. A white man can't live thar at all. I can't understand this no how, and can't see what it's all about. I don't know nothing of that chap they call Limkum, and don't care nuther. George Washington fit for his country, but I don't see as how it's worth fighting for any more." " Will we meet any Yankee soldiers on the road ? " in- quired Lena. "I can't say," he replied, "for they are as thick as huckleberries, a stealing, fightin' and cussin' all over the country, and I don't know what it's all for. They can't shoot much, nuther. They ought to see me let this old blade/' referring to his gun, "loose amongst the wild var- mints." The party bid the eccentric mountaineer farewell, and continued on their lonely journey through these eternal solitudes of nature. The roads were almost impassable, and it began to grow dark before they had reached the Chil- howee settlements. They suddenly encountered six mounted men, dressed in blue coats, completely armed, led by a dashing Lieuten- ant, wearing a gay uniform, decorated with a profusion 174 THE SUNNY LAND; of gold lace. It was the besotted Campbell Fukey, who had reached the seat of war in connection with the com- missaiy department, but who now occupied a less danger- ous, and more independent position. Lena became much excited at the appearance of these armed Federals, but Mrs. Duree remained as calm and composed, as if she had recognized in them some of her best friends. The driver waited a moment, expecting that they would pass, but instead of that, they drew up around the carriage, and Lieutenant Fukey ordered all parties to halt, and then said, abruptly : " Where are you from ? " " North Carolina," returned Mrs. Duree, in a calm tone, whilst Lena sat at her side, trembling with fear. " Your name." "Adaline Duree," she answered; and then continued, pointing to her companion: '^this is Miss Lena Eston." Mrs. Duree now handed the Federal officer the passport which Miss Eaymond had given to Lena. He perused it carelessly, and then said, with a commanding gesture : " You can consider yourselves under arrest." " Is that passport not good ? " asked Lena, in a tremu- lous voice. " Certainly, it is good," he replied, with an oath. " Why are we arrested ? '* '' Such are my orders," he answered crustily. " From whom? " she continued. " That is my business," he said, savagely, with a fierce oath, and then muttered a general curse on all Eebels. Lena now implored him to let them proceed on their way without interruption; but he cut her short, with another bitter invective, and ordered the driver to pro- ceed. " To what place do you intend to take us ? " persisted Lena. " There is no end to woman's tongue," he exclaimed A STORY OP THE CRUEL WAR. 175 angrily, and then muttered a half expressed curse on all women. They had proceeded some distance, when the partially intoxicated Lieutenant rode up to the carriage, and said to Mrs. Duree: *' You know Captain Pike." Lena was startled at the mention of this name, and she instantly suspicioned that he had caused their arrest, but she remained silent, and Mrs. Duree replied : " I have met with the Captain." "A devilish good fellow, I would say," and then he con- tinued : " a perfect prince — a scourge to all Eebels." Mrs. Duree was somewhat confused, and feared that the indiscreet officer would expose the whole plot. After a moment, she said : " He has been recently at Knoxville." "He has been, but he is. not there at present," he re- plied, in a significant tone. They now began to descend towards the Tennessee riv- er, and soon reached the Chilhowee settlements. The guarded prisoners could see by the moonlight, a neat farm- liouse at the road side, but they were not permitted to halt at this place, and moved on rapidly in the same direc- tion they had been travelling. Some time afterwards Lena discovered that the carriage had suddenly changed its course, and that they were pur- suing a rough road, along a deep defile, overshadowed by lofty hills. She shuddered at the thought of her fearful condition. She knew that she was utterly powerless ia the hands of these villainous-looking men that surrounded the vehicle, and in her helj^lessness, prayed for the assist- ance of one that never slumbers. Finally the carriage halted in front of a low, double-log house, and a moment afterwards, the stillness of the night was broken by the gruff voice of Lieutenant Fukey. " Miss Eston will alight," he said, impatiently. 176 THE SUNNY LAND; She sprang down from the carriage, supposing Mrs. Du- ree would follow. The next moment the Lieutenant continued, addressing his men : " Take the prisoner into that house, place her in the care of the old crone, and guard the door until I return. Let no one go in or come out, at your peril." He then ordered the driver to proceed in a certain direc- tion with Mrs. Duree ; and when the carriage had moved on, he followed alone, in the rear. Lena was in the midst of these rude soldiers. She gazed at their grim faces, half revealed by the moon-beams, and felt that they were all hardened wretches, who would not even pity her in her deep distress. She remained motion- less, in speechless horror, until a coarse, unfeeling voice fell on her ears, commanding her to enter the miserable hovel. She mechanically obeyed, with feelings that may be more easily imagined than described. A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 177 CHAPTEE XXIY. The Raid into Chilhowee. As soon as Pennie Eaymond had returned to Knoxville and reported to Hiram Pike the probable success of her mission into JS'orth Carolina, he set out to Chilhowee, ac- companied by the Eev. Obadiah Stanton, who, on account of his clerical profession, was not let into the full secret of the plot. He was only chosen as a travelling companion, because his services might be needed in securing an unwil- ling bride. By the way, they were joined by fifteen mount- ed men, well armed, and under the command of Lieuten- ant Fukey. They were dressed as Federals, but in reality belonged to an independent Union company. By making a rapid movement, they reached the extreme limit of the Chilhowee settlements about sunset, and halted at the residence of Thomas Harker, a substantial farmer, supposed to be loyal to all Yankeedom. Hiram Pike having learned that the desired parties had not reached Chilhowee, now sent forward Lieutenant Fukey with six men, after having given him ample in- structions how to proceed in the event he met with the expected travellers. He then alighted with the remainder of his men, and peremptorily ordered Mrs Harker to prepare supper with- out delay. The whole company scattered themselves over the prem- ises, and began a general search for brandy, corn whiskey, and certain other luxuries they hoped to find, and man- 8* 178 THE SUNNY LAND; aged, during this process, to pocket a number of small val- uables. When ^Ir. Harker returned home, he found that he was no longer master of his own premises. Notwithstanding he had ever been exceedingly loyal to the Union, his mili- tary friends appeared determined to reduce him to pover- ty. He saw that the last of his oats, corn and hay had been appropriated by his protectors. He entered his kitch- en, and there were two cut-throats commanding his wife to hurry up supper. He passed into his dining room, and discovered three more quarrelling over a jug of honey. He went to the parlor, and there sat Captain Pike in an easy chair, with a bottle of brandy at his side, and his feet on the table. Mr. Harker knew it was useless to remonstrate with those reckless men, and was well aware that they would as soon blow out his brains as to speak a pleasant word. During many months previous to their arrival, he had longed for the presence of the blue coats, but he had been surfeited with the desired good. He advanced towards Captain Pike, who remained mo- tionless, and was greeted with a command delivered in a domineering tone : " Hurry up tea, old man," cried Captain Pike. The former saw that his visitor was partially intoxica- ted, and replied, in a pleasant manner, that it would soon be ready. " The devil it will," growled Hiram, as he emptied another glass of brandy, and re^^laced his feet upon the table. "I suppose," continued the farmer, "you are after Cap- tain Eler, who now holds Chilhowee in awe." "Captain Eler," repeated Hiram, as he sprang to his feet, and then added : " where is Captain Eler ? " " He was here to-day, but I can't say where he is at present." A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 179 " Captain Eler in Chilhowee ? " '' He was three hours ago." " What part of it ? " " He passed by this place." Hiram Pike was utterly confounded at this intelligence, for he knew that he commanded a brave and desperate set of men. He sat down again, then sprang up nervously. He had many reasons to dread this daring company of Confederates, which he was pleased to style guerillas, but when informed what direction they had taken, he breathed much easier, and contented himself with sending out a scouting party, to learn if any armed Confederates were in the neighborhood. An hour afterwards. Lieutenant Fukey came into the room, and seeing that Captain Pike was alone, he said somewhat boisterously : " The bird is caged." " Good," replied Hiram. The Lieutenant proceeded to give an account of the capture, which is already known to the reader, with such variation as suited his purpose. " How did she take it ? " asked Hiram. "Talked like a queen." " You managed to quiet her ? " " With a few oaths." " ^ow send in Mrs. Puree; I must talk with her a short time, and then fly to my weej^ing darling." A few moments afterwards, Hiram Pike imagined he heard a sound in the dimly lighted hall leading into that apartment. He went to the door and listened, but he could hear nothing. When Mrs. Duree came in he received her affably, and then said: " The deed is done." " Lena is now at Mrs. Huball's," she replied. Again he heard a strange noise at the opposite side of 180 THE SUNNY LAND; the house. He arose up, nervously, and listened a few moments, but all was silent. He finally sat down, but a few minutes afterwards, lifted his eyes to the window, and saw two glaring eyes that made his blood run cold. He sprang to his feet, trembling with fear, and drew a pistol, but the ghastly face instantly disappeared. He ordered the premises to be searched, but no ene- my was found. He then endeavored to quiet his nerves, and began to grow somewhat composed under the sound of Mrs. Duree's voice, when they were startled by cries for help, proceeding from an upper chamber. A few moments afterwards, the Eev. Obadiah Stanton burst into that aj)artment, followed by Lieutenant Fukey and others. He was almost naked, evidently much fright- ened, and in an agony of unutterable distress. It was sometime before any satisfactory explanation could be obtained. It appeared that the Parson, desiring to retire early, had been shown an upper chamber, and whilst in the act of getting into bed, some ghostly form, clad in the habiliments of the grave, had entered the room, and acted in a manner much unlike a ghost. The Eev. Obadiah presented a most outlandish figure, as he stood grinniug before them in his night clothes, ut- terly unable to relate what had occurred. Mrs. Duree left the room upon his entrance, with a shriek, and Captain Pike involuntarily placed his hand on his pistol, but did not deem it expedient to draw it. "What is the matter?" asked the Captain. The Parson clutched the fireboard for support, grinned horribly, looked at the astonished spectators imploringly, and then pointed at Mr. Harker. "What is the matter?" again demanded Hiram Pike. " I am sure I do not know," said the farmer. " The first thing I knew of it, he ran over my poor wife on the stairs, and was screaming murder, as if all of Eler's men had been in pursuit." A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 181 Tbo Parson still pointed at the luckless farmer, and finally breathed forth from his pale lips: " Thou art the man." "What?" asked the farmer. " You did it." "Did what?" "Dashed into my presence like a disembodied spirit, whispered ' die, old fanatic,' and then sprang forward and seized my throat." "Arrest that man ! " exclaimed Captain Pike. " I have done nothing," said the farmer. "Hano; him," muttered the Parson. " Confess this moment," cried the Captain, "or Iwill have your brains blown out without delay." " I am innocent," insisted the farmer. " You are an infernal Eebel, I expect," said Hiram Pike. It was hard for Mr. Harker, who had ever been faithful to the Union cause, to bear all this from Federal soldiers, and, as a last resort, succeeded in proving an alibi, and was dismissed for the present. When Captain Pike came out of the house to mount his horse, for the purpose of visiting Lena, followed by Lieu- tenant Fukcy, and all his men, the figure of a man might have been seen crouching in the adjoining undergrowth. The same pair of sparkling eyes that had before appear- ed, now watched his movements. Every word he spoke, and every order he issued, was caught by eager ears, and treasured up in a retentive memory. JfC 5jC 5}s 5^< JjC 3fC We will now return to Lena, whom we left at the mercy of a set of unprincipled men, that could not be moved by pity. When she entered the house that was to serve as her temporary prison, a pine knot was blazing on the hearth, casting a flickering light over the rude furniture. Mrs. II u ball sat enjoying the luxury of a clay pipe, when her visitor entered. She appeared to be about seventy 182 THE SUNNY LAND J years of age, and was dressed in a faded gown, much patched and torn. Her features were coarse, her face dark and wrinkled, and her whole appearance indicated a woman that could not be trusted. As Lena advanced, the old crone blew from her mouth a long stream of tobacco smoke, then arose to her feet and pointed to a chair. She stood some moments in silence, gazing at her fair visitor, and gradually a puzzled expres- sion stole over her dark and stolid countenance, and then she muttered to herself, half aloud : "I don't understand it, but I guess it be for the Union." Lena immediately burst into tears, and implored this wo- man for protection, who listened until the weeping girl had ceased sjDeaking, then walked to the window, and repeated to herself the words of Hiram Pike : "it is for the Union — the good of the Union;" after which she turned back to Lena, and said, in a softened voice : " Don't cry, my child ; it won't do a bit of good." Mrs. Huball now went into the adjoining log cabin, and the moment Lena was alone, she flew to the door, hoping that she would be able to make her escape ; but she could see, by moonlight, an armed guard, ready to intercept her flight. She then returned to her seat nervously, and sat down in despair. Sometimes she would pace to and fro across the room, bemoaning her unhappy fate; and then again she would throw herself in a chair, and indulge in a fit of weeping. Thus she continued, until the door was opened, and Hiram Pike entered, dressed in a Federal uniform. He advanced towards Lena, who stood at the opposite side of the room, ready to faint with terror. "I am happy to see you, Miss Eston," he said, as he made a formal bow. She remained motionless, and gazed wildly at his face. She did not move a muscle, until he extended his hand towards her, when she shrank back, as if she had unex- A STORY OP THE CRUEL WAR. 183 pectedly encountered a venomous reptile, and then ex- claimed, bitterly : " Why have I been arrested and brought to this place?'' " Why ? " he repeated, unwilling to answer this pointed question. " What does it mean? " she continued, vehemently. "Your are not under arrest, my darling." " You are the cause of all this," she said ; and then add- ed ; "I know it is your work." " Perhai^s it is," he replied, sarcastically. "Oh! G-od, save me — help me — protect me," burst from her pale lips. "Be seated," he said; and then added, abruptly; "Ex- cuse me, dearest, I have been drinking some this after- noon. Now set down, and let us reason together." "You are a villain!" she exclaimed. " I love to' hear even that from your sweet lips," he said, advancing a step nearer to the weeping Lena. " Oh, Heaven, save me ! " she cried, in mournful accents, and instantly sprang towards the door; but Hiram stepped before her, and said, in an exulting tone : " ISTo ! no, my beauty, you cannot leave this house with- out my consent ; " and then, after a moment, he added : " you might as well be quiet, and talk reasonably. He ceased speaking, and awaited an answer ; but Lena made no reply, and he continued : "I know you came to Tennessee in order to meet your lover, but you will find none here but myself; therefore you must accept me as your most devoted admirer." Lena still remained silent, and seemed to be considering some dreadful alternative. Hiram Pike gazed a moment at her sorrow-stricken face, and continued : "I love you with all my heart. Your charms have un- done me. Now consent to be mine, and there is a minister of the gospel within one mile of this place, who will make us husband and wife, one and inseparable." 184 THE SUNNY LAND; Lena stood in the centre of the room, with her arms folded over her breast, whilst she listened to this proposal. When he had concluded, she broke forth vehemently : " Marry you ? never ! never ! ! never ! ! ! Sooner would I put an end to my own life ; sooner die a thousand deaths : sooner sleep in the cold grave, than be united to a man I despise." "■ You will rue these words," he said, angrily ; and then added, in a voice hoarse with passion: "you should know me better." " I scorn and defy you," she replied, with a calmness that astonished her implacable enemy. Here Hiram Pike advanced towards the apparently helpless Lena, wearing a dark, scowling countenance, when she suddenly exclaimed: " Stand back ! stand back ! ! or one of us will die." At the same moment he saw the gleam of a weapon in her hand, and knew, by the outlines of her pale face, that she had uttered no idle threat. He was surprised and thunder-struck at this unexpected defence, and stood baffled, considering what course he would pursue, when suddenly a number of guns were dis- charged, and Lena fell, fainting at his feet. He instantly rushed to the door, and ran against Patrick Megram, who was entering at that moment. The dark- ness prevented him from seeing the Irishman's face, but he recognized him as an enemy. They grappled, and rolled together down the high steps, and were effectually separa- ted by the fall. Captain Pike sprang up, and fled for his life. A moment afterwards, a number of shots were fired, one of which took effect in his side ; but he dashed on, believing that if captured, he would be punished with a death he so richly merited. * :f: :Jt * * ^ When Lena became conscious, a shudder passed through A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 185 her frame, at the recollection of the horrors of that night. She opened her eyes and found Edward Ashton stooping over her, wearing an anxious face. She was com- pletely bewildered, iand muttered : "Am I dreaming?" "No, dearest," said Edward; "you are now with your friends." She sprang up, gazed around the room, then looked up into Edward's face, and said, in a sweet and melancholy tone: " Edward, you have saved me." He now explained, in a few words, how he had escaped from the Federals at Chattanooga, and reached Chilhowee on his way across the mountains, where he had found some of Captain Eler's men, and went with them to their camp, and there met Patrick Megram, who had followed Captain Pike from Knoxville, and watched all his move- ments. Their conversation was here interrupted by an uproar in the adjoining log cabin, where they could hear mingled voices, and cries of "kill him ! kill the murderer, the thief, the cut-throat." Edward hastily entered this apartment, where he found Hiram Pike, severely wounded ; and sat on the floor, surrounded by a band of Captain Eler's men, who were swearing that they would dispatch him immediately. " Do not kill him ! " cried Edward. " Spare my life," added Hiram Pike, in piteous tones. "Justice! — I demand justice," said a soldier, as he drew a long knife from his belt. " He is a murderer ! " exclaimed another. " A villain that had my son killed ! " said a grey-haired soldier. "A rope," cried a corporal ; " let us have a rope ! " " A rope ! a rope ! ! " repeated a half dozen, at the same moment. 186 THE SUNNY LAND; " This man," said Edward, pointing at the crest-fallen Hiram Pike, " has been my bitterest enemy. I know he has been guilty of many crimes, but he is now our prison- er, and I would not stain my hands with his blood." " He must die ! " exclaimed a soldier, fiercely. '' Hang him ! " cried another. '' Hang the villain ! " was repeated by many voices. Captain Eler now, for the first time, interfered, and commanded silence ; then continued : " I know how you have all suffered, many of you have been driven from your homes by such cowardly miscre- ants as the prisoner, but we all profess to be honorable soldiers. ]S"ow I propose that the young lady in the ad- joining room decide his fate." Hiram Pike imagined that his fate was sealed beyond all hope, when he heard the soldiers' assent to this propo- sition, and he was utterly astonished when he heard her words : "Spare his life; he will be overtaken by justice and punished for all his crimes." She was far above revenge, and could forgive, being "A perfect woman, nobly planned — To warn, to comfort and command, And a spirit still and bright, With something of an angel's light." ****** Edward Ashton had sent Patrick Megram to the resi- dence of Mr. Harker with a few soldiers, thinking some of Captain Pike's men, who had escaped, would fly to that place, and he did not return until the next morning. " Where is the Eev. Stanton ? " asked Edward, as Pat made his appearance. " I paroled him," replied the Irishman, with a comical expression, "and made him swear not to preach politics any more. He objected at first, but I just tightetied his white cravat, to remind him of the way I gripped his A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 187 throat last night, when he imagined me to be a ghost. He talked about his conscience, but I soon convinced him he never had such a thing. I first made him kiss the Bi- ble, and clinched it with the higher law. I then put him on his horse, mounted Mrs. Duree behind him, and sent them off to Knoxville, riding double." " You captured no other men ? " " We overhauled Lieutenant Fukey. Some one had given him a slashing stroke with a sabre, and ruined his coun- tenance. I was afraid to take him into the house, lest he might recognize me as the same person he had met in KnoxVille, and lead to future trouble. I examined him by moonlight, made him swear he would not steal, plunder, or rob, until was regularly exchanged, then sent him on his way rejoicing." Edward now conversed with Patrick Megram in a low tone, for a short time, after which the faithful Irishman parted with his friends, and rode off in the direction of Knoxville. A half hour had not elapsed, until Edward set out with Lena, to I^orth Carolina, and about sun-set, they reached the first settlements, beyond the mountains. Here they remained until the next day, when he bade her adieu, leav- ing her to pursue her way to " Chola," and hastened on to join the Confederate army, then struggling against over- whelming forces, in front of Atlanta. 188 THE SUNNY LAND J CHAPTEE XXY. The Avenger in Pursuit. It was on a dull, cloudy day, a few months before the close of the war, when a Federal soldier, bearing the rank of a corporal, might have been seen slowly walking along one of the principal thoroughfares of Knoxville. He was perhaps forty years of age, about the ordinary height, well built, and possessed sharp features, and a keen, rest- less eye. He suddenly halted, and stood on the edge of the pave- ment, as if reflecting what he would do to while away the tedious hours. A moment afterwards a hand was laid on his shoulder with no slight grip, and on turning around, he found himself confronted a by tall, ungainly woman. " What might be your name," she said, as she scanned his features. He looked at the vagrant from head to foot, and replied in a sarcastic tone — " It might be Sodomon Gomorrah Holloway," and then, after a moment, added, " I am not known by that name." " Don't be so sharp," said the woman, crustily, " I guess Nell Tucker has seen as much as you be, long afore this." " You are called Nell Tucker," said the soldier, with a smile. "I am extremely happy to meet you. My name is Alvin Croft ; now please inform me who is Nell Tuck- er?" " So I thought I'd seed you afore," continued the wo- man. A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 189 " I am certain I never had a peep at your picture until this morning." " I guess you will know me now," she said, sharply. " One would not be likely to forget your martial appear- aace, and I take you to be a reconstructed rebel." " You don't mind me. but your father knew me so well/' " It is likely he did," replied Alvin Croft. " He probably formed the acquaintance of many persons before I was in a condition to do so." " I've seed you often, as well as him." "Where?" he asked, as he again fixed his eyes on the puzzling creature. "In Kansas," she replied; "and I know something about your father." " What ? " he asked. " Something that you would like to hear of him and your poor sister, murdered like the tother one." " Murdered, you say ? My sister murdered ! " exclaim- ed the soldier, and at the same time his whole demeanor changed to one of anxious inquiry. " This is not the place to talk," continued l^ell Tucker. " We will seek another," he said, impatiently. Nell Tucker now led the way, and they proceeded to a drinking saloon in a retired portion of the city. As soon as they were alone, she continued : " You know Dan Bowen, that villain who came with a band of men, tuck out your father, and killed the poor critter because he didn't vote to suit 'em ? " " I do," replied the soldier, with a contracted brow. "He then broke jail, and your sister disappeared." " I have been looking for the scoundrel for many years. But what of my sister ? " " That man Bowen tuck her to Louisville, and she thought she had married the scamp, but arter awhile she found out the hoax, and was about to kick up a rumpus, and so he got somebody to capsize her into" the river. Now that 's all I tell." 190 THE SUNNY LAND; " Is this true ? " he asked, in an excited tone. " True as gospel." " The evidence," he said, impatiently. " You can git it." " How ? " he asked, eagerly. " By one man in Knoxville and two more in Ohio." '' Will you produce this evidence ? " " On the right terms.'* " For money ? " " Yes ; you pay, and I will prove all I say, and show you Bowen," she added, in a whisper. " I will give one thousand dollars to see that incarnate fiend," exclaimed Alvin Croft, fiercely. " I can point him out in the twinkling of an eye," said. Nell Tucker, " but Bowen ain't his right name." " What is he now called ? " " Will you come to my terms ? " " Yes, I will do it," said the soldier, and then counted out one hundred dollars. " Now take this money," he continued, " and when you fulfil your promise, you shall have the remainder." She clutched the money eagerly, and continued : " His name is Hiram Pike." " Is it possible ! I know the wretch," cried Alvin Croft, as he sprang to his feet, " I never suspicioned that he was the same ; but it must be true, for I remember the resem- blance." " He is not here," said the woman. " He went out of the city on some devilment, and a rebel put a ball into his hide, but he will soon be here again, when I guess you can see him." " I hope he will return before I have to leave this place," said the soldier, in an anxious tone. '^ But who is the wit- ness ? " "Patrick Megram." " Did he see the deed done ? " A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 191 " He knows of it." "Hearsay evidence won't do." " He will satisfy your mind." " When can I see him ? " " If I can find him, I will have him here at ten o'clock to-night." " Then I will be here precisely at that hour," he said, as he arose to depart. He then bowed haughtily to the wo- man and walked out, considering how he would avenge the wrong perpetrated upon his relatives. Nell Tucker had arrived at Knoxville a few days pre- vious to the time Hiram Pike set out for Chilhowee, and had called upon him for the money due according to their contract, when a quarrel ensued in regard to the amount. Hiram Pike offered her one hundred dollars, which she received, and then told him she must have three hundred more within one week, and threatened to expose every- thing in the event the money was not ready at the expi- ration of that period, upon which he became exceedingly angry, and ordered her out of his oflSce. She remained quiet until the appointed time, when she heard that he had been wounded. She became worried at his protracted absence, and accidently meeting with Alvin Croft, as described, she concluded to raise the money through that individual. Mrs. Duree was now at Knoxville, impatiently awaiting the return of Captain Pike. She had lost a good home, failed in her object, and was in every way a most unhap- py woman. She finally opened a colored school, and easily persuaded Pennie Raymond, once the proud and haughty "Belle of Two Cities," to take the position of an assistant teacher. As soon as Captain Pike had recovered from his wounds, he came to Knoxville, and frequently visited the School Marms, who always received him with much pleasure. He endured Mrs. Duree as an unavoidable evil, and liked 192 THE SUNNY LAND J Pennie Eayniond above all his acquaintances, for she alone could charm and fascinate, and cause him to forget the lashings of a guilty conscience. It was to him torture — a hell on earth, to be left to his own thoughts, and for this reason, he often sought her companionship. He now began prosecuting claims against the govern- ment, and was soon engaged in some stupendous frauds, by which he hoped to retrieve a squandered fortune ; but before he had time to realize much from this source, his attention was called to the approaching invasion of West- ern JN'orth Carolina. Assisted by Lieutenant Fukey, he began to raise an in- dependent company, under the name of the Union Guards, and soon succeeded in drawing together a band of cut- throats and desperadoes of the worst character. One day, when he was about ready to set out on the proposed expedition, a middle aged individual entered his office, dressed as an every-day laborer. He made a low bow, and then said, with a broad Irish accent : " I would Hke to see Captain Pike ; I think that be his name, yer honor." " That's my name," he replied, impatiently. " Wa'al, Captain, can I have a chance in your company ? I'm dying, yer honor, for one free fight." " It's full," he said, crustily. " Couldn't you let a man fight that's ager for a scrim- mage ? " continued the Irishman. " What is your name ? " asked Captain Pike, somewhat amused at the Irishman's persistence. " My grandfather, Michael O'Neal, called me Patrick, but yer honor might call me short Pat ; and by the way Michael O'Neal was fine grit, and knew how to wield a shelala." " Where do you live ? " " I haven't lived at all," he replied, " for want of a job of work, so I made up my mind to take a pape at the rebels." A STORY OP THE CRUEL WAR. 193 " My comjDany is full," continued the Captain, " but I want some one to attend to my horse, and to wait on me generally." " I am yer man," said Pat ; " in fact, I don't like fight- ing, nohow; but I can curry, rub, or straddle a horse." " I will try you," said Captain Pike, amused at his com- ical expression. " When shall I begin ? " asked the Irishman. ''JN'ext Monday morning, bright and early," replied the Caj)tain. " I will be hero without fail," said Pat, as he walked away. Hiram Pike opened a memorandum and registered the name of his body servant, Pat O'JSTeal, without the slightest suspicion that he had ever before met with the Irishman. He never dreamed that he had employed a notorious Con- federate spy, who had long baffled the military authori- ties. 194 THE SUNNY LAND J CHAPTEE XXYl. Trouble at Chola. The fearful drama of human woe was rapidly drawing to a close. The last scene of the long and bloody tragedy was now being enacted. Four j^ears of untold suiferings had been endured in vain, for the sake of constitutional liberty ; and coercion, the hydra-headed monster, the mer- ciless offspring of feudal despotism, was about to triumph over a once glorious government, of consent. The South- ern States, the birthplace of statesmen of acknowledged ability, who, by their genius, had made our country the wonder and admiration of the world, was about to become helpless at the feet of the dominant JS'orth, where a few radical politicians, with selfish souls, and narrow, contract- ed views, entirely governed by partisan considerations, had usurped all authority, and wickedly trampled under their unhallowed feet, the great charter of American free- dom. We will now revisit "Chola," and follow its inmates through the closing scenes of this long, cruel and fratri- cidal strife, inaugurated by a clan of unprincipled leaders, who had determined to revolutionize the government, and blot the institution of slavery out of existence. Lena and her cousin were alone, watching at the bed- side of Mr. Eston, who was then suffering from a severe illness, which threatened to prove fatal. Three days pre- vious to that time, a Federal force had occupied Eaven- wood, and on the same afternoon, a band called at " Chola" A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 195 for the purpose of arresting that aged gentleman. They found him languishing on a bed of sickness, and in spite of prayers, tears, and entreaties, he was compelled to rise and proceed with them to Eavenwood, on a cold and in- clement night. Here he was detained by the Provost Marshal, without cause, and the disease was much aggra- vated by the exposure and anxiety. He was finally per- mitted to return home, and now his symptoms were of a most alarming character. As the clock struck twelve, the sufferer fell asleep, and the cousins drew up near the decaying fire and sat in si- lence, busy with their own reflections, and apparently listening to the moaning winds, until they heard a rap at a door in the rear of the building. " Some one knocked," said Lena, in evident alarm. "It was but the window shutters," said Yenie, wishing to hide her fears. " It may prove another band of plundering Yankees," Lena continued, with a sigh. " We may be robbed and murdered before daylight. Annie Linton told us before she departed, that we might be visited by some indepen- dent company of cut-throats." "I pray," said Yenie, "that we will see none that are worse than the regular army. At the rate, they have al- ready robbed us, we will soon have nothing." Here they heard, distinctly, another rap on the door, and sprang to their feet, fearing that some of the invaders were demanding admittance. Yenie siezed a lamp, and proceeded to the door, follow- ed by Lena. They opened it cautiously, but the dreaded enemy was not there. One lonely individual, dressed in blue, stood before them, who made a formal bow, spoke in a mild tone, and then entered. " Don't be alarmed," he said, " it is your old friend, Pat- rick Megram, dressed in the fashionable blue." They led the Irishman into the adjoining room, where 196 THE SUNNY LAND; they might converse without disturbing Mr. Eston, when he told them in a few words, that Captain Pike would soon reach "Chola," in command of a desperate set of men, and that they must flee to a place of safety. " I cannot leave my father," said Lena. " Where is Miss Linton ? " asked Pat. " She left for Haysville yesterday." " Ca]Dtain Pike captured two letters she had written, and is furious. She must be warned of her danger, but I cannot proceed there to-night." " I will go," said Yenie. After some further consultation, Patrick Megram bade adieu to the sorrowful cousins, and set out on his return to Captain Pike's headquarters. A half hour afterwards, Yenie Ardin mounted Zep, her favorite animal, and pro- ceeded alone towards Haysville, twelve miles from " Chola." ;Ji * * ■* # * The following day was cold, bleak, and dreary, such as we sometimes witness at the approach of spring. The heavens were overcast with swift-moving clouds, and the winds whistled in fitful gusts, as if all nature sympathized with a bereaved and distressed people. It was, indeed, a sad and dreary day to all who could not look " Beyond the chilling winds and gloomy skies, Beyond death's cloudy portal." Early that morning, Lena Eston stood on the piazza, wear- ing a sad and anxious face. She seemed unusually deject- ed, and sighed as her eyes rested on the ravages that had been committed by the Federals on the previous day. Lena had many reasons to be troubled. She had, on the night previous, learned that Captain Pike and his Union Guards were advancing towards "Chola." Yenie was absent from home, and might not be able to return in safe- ty, and above all, she had been told on that morning by the family physician, that her loved father could not re- A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 197 cover. She remained motioDless a few inomentB, indulg- ing in the most gloomy reflections, then lifted her eyes to Mount Chola, whose summit was mantled in snow. She sighed, and said to herself : "It is hard to bear, but I must pray for a spirit of resignation." She returned to her father and sat down at his dying couch, enduring the pangs of unutterable misery, but she was not long permitted to indulge in these mournful re- flections. The door bell rang violently, and she sprang up, supposing she must face another company of insulting Federals. She hesitated a moment, and the bell rang furiously, when, leaving the servant to watch at her father's bed- side, she hastened to answer the summons. Oaths fell on her ears as she oj)ened the door, and found a company of Yankees, led by a red-complected officer, whom she recog- nized as she same that had arrested her in Tennessee. " Miss Eston, I believe," said the red-faced Lieutenant, who appeared to be partially intoxicated, "I am very much pleased to meet you again ; but first, to business. I am ordered to search this house." " For what purpose ? " " That's my business," he replied, abruptly, with an oath. " I don't answer questions asked by rebels. Perhaps there is a deserter, or a secreted ' Johnny,' in the dwell- ing." " There is no one here but my father," said Lena, "who is at the point of death." " So the old Eeb. is about to die, eh ? Just in time to escape justice." Lena's cheeks crimsoned at this insulting language, but she feared to resent the words. She must endure in si- lence the reign of a hated military despotism. " Clear the track," cried Lieutenant Fukey, as he pushed the trembling Lena aside, and entered, followed by a num- ber of armed men. 198 THE SUNNY LAND J A general search then began, during which some jewel- ry, choice trinkets, and various other articles di^eappeared. Every room, closet, and corner was examined with great care ; feather beds were ripped, open, and mattresses cut to pieces. The persevering Yankees even thrust their sabres into ladies' skirts and dresses suspended in the wardrobe, lest these might contain the secreted form of some dreaded rebel. When Lieutenant Fukey had examined every apart- ment in the house, includino; the room where Mr. Eston lay, he asked Lena many questions in regard to matters of which she was entirely ignorant. He appeared spe- cially anxious to learn something in regard to a deserter by the name of Patrick O'Xeal, and because she could not give him the desired information, he raved, threatened, swore most profanely, and finally left, saying he would call on her again. ****** About sundown Mr. Eston sank into a deep stupor, and for some hours he remained perfectly quiet, but Lena knew by his labored breathing, that she must soon bid him adieu forever. Oh ! how bitter, how poignant her grief, as she sat alone, thinking of her absent cousin, who had been unaccountably detained, and mourning over the loss she was about to sustain by the death of her parent. As the clock struck the hour of ten, the sufferer moved, and she instantly sprang to her feet, and stood weeping over the loved one then passing away from a world of sor- row and tribulation. Mr. Eston looked at his daughter a few moments, and then said in a low, feeble tone : *' Yenie has not returned ? " "]S'o, but I am expecting her every moment." '' Oh, my children, what will become of you," he said, in feeble accents. " I am dying — I will soon leave you forever." A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 199 Lena looked around for the servant girl, who had re- mained with her during the day, but she was gone, per- haps not to return again. She was alone with the dying. There was no friendly hand to assist her in her distress. Even the slaves had deserted her, and fled to the Yankees at Eavenwood. "My last hour has come," continued Mr. Eston. "It grieves me to leave you thus in the midst of enemies, but I trust God will be your friend. He has promised that He will If ever leave nor forsake those that rely in His mercy." After a few moments had elapsed, his lips again moved. She inclined her head, and heard him sa}^ : " God will be your shield and buckler in every day of adversity, so you shall not be afraid of the terror by night, nor of the ar- row that flieth by day, nor of the pestilence that walketh in darkness, nor of the destruction that wasteth at noon- day." Again he continued in broken accents: "Head that hymn I love so well," and Lena began the lines to which he referred. Her voice was low, sad and touching, and so great was her emotion, that she could not finish it. She then looked up through her tears at his pale features, and saw a faint smile fj^ather over his calm face as he re- peated : o' " There on a green and flowery mount, Our weary souls shall sit, And with transporting joys recount, The labors of our feet." After a short silence, Lena read the well known hymn beginning: "Come, let us join our friends above," until she came to the lines, "Part of the host has crossed the flood, And part are crossing now." Here her feelings became so intense, that she broke 200 THE SUNNY LAND J down, and was unable to continue. She bowed her head, and said to herself: '•' Oh, it is hard to lose an only parent and protector, when all the world around is in commo- tion ; when my bitterest enemy is advancing to renew his persecution ; when all my friends are absent, and Avhen there is no one, not even a servant, to assist me in my dis- tress." She then took her father's cold hand, and stood clinging to it as if she could not let him depart. " Weep not, my daughter," he said, in feeble accents. " We will soon meet in heaven, where there will be no more sorrow, no more weeping, no more tears ; where we will see Jesus as he is, be like Him, and reign with Him forever." These were Mr. Eston's last words. He soon afterwards sank into the sleep of death, and his spirit passed away from this blood-stained and desolated earth, to an eternal rest. Lena adjusted her father's lifeless arras across his breast, gently closed his eyelids, and then sat down, pale, tearless, in speechless grief. " All alone," she exclaimed. " Alone Avith the dead, alone in the midst of bitter enemies.'.' A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 201 CHAPTEE XXYII. Lena could not lona* indulo;e in sorrow. She must have assistance, but knew not how to obtain it. Fortunately, the servant girl, who had suddenly disappeared, returned in the moment of need, from whom she learned that two of the negro men had returned home. She sent for them immediately, and they soon arrived, gave to the dead the necessary attention, and then departed, leaving Lena alone with the servant. A few minutes afterwards, Lena learned from this ser- vant that one of the slaves had returned from Eavenwood, and reported that Yenie had been captured, and was held as a prisoner, by the Federals. She sat down and wrote to her cousin : " Father is dead, and I advise you not to return to " Chola." If you are able to escape, I think you should cross the mountains immediately. Our worst enemy will be here in the morning. God only knows what will be my fate. I will soon follow you, if possible, beyond the mountains." She then induced the servant, by the promise of a large reward, to undertake to carry it immediately to Eaven- wood, and deliver it to her cousin. The girl departed, and Lena was alone with the dead. As she sat there, near that lifeless form, in the silent hours of the night, she felt most unutterably sad, lonely and desolate. So deep and 9* 202 THE SUNNY LAND J poignant was her distress, that she involuntarily exclaimed, aloud : " T would not live ahvay ! I ask not to stajr ; Where storm after storm rises dark o'er the way." She was suddenly aroused from her painful reflection, by a noise that resembled the approach of horsemen. She arose, nervously, went into an adjoining room, where a dim lamp was burning, opened the window, and could dis- tinctly hear the rattle of sabres, and, at the same time, she perceived a long row of camp fires, along the margin of the river. She turned away from the window, with a shudder, supposing that the much dreaded Independent Company had arrived ; but the next moment the door- bell rang. After a moment's reflection, she opened it, with feelings of terror that may be more easily imagined than described, and the villain she most feared, entered without ceremony. She instantly shrank back, and stood in silence, surveying the monster in human shape. Captain Pike did not utter a word for some moments. A dark, sinister smile spread over his countenance, as he bowed formally, and said : " Do not be frightened, Miss Eston." And then con- tinued, in his blandest tones: " I have called at an unusual hour, but I hope you will excuse it in a Federal officer. My men have just arrived, and encamped on this planta- tion, and, as I was passing, I observed a light in your win- dow, and could not resist the temptation of calling, with- out delay, on one I love so well." Lena made no reply. She remained motionless, and seemed dumb with amazement. The thoughts of the past, the terrors she had already borne, and the fresh trial to be endured, crowded on her mind like so many hideous spectres. Eeason, itself, was almost dethroned, and she was then unable to even plan for her own safety. Hiram Pike was completely deceived by her motionless A STORY OP THE CRUEL WAR. 203 attitude. He hesitated a few moments, then advanced to- wards the trembling beauty, and said, in a changed tone : ^' I presume you will no longer resist your manifest des- tiny. You will now agree to be mine, and bestow on me your warmest aftection." As Hiram Pike concluded this sentence, he threw out his hand towards Lena, as if intending to clasp her in his arms. This movement suddenly aroused her to a sense of her danger, and, quick as thought, she darted into the room containing the corpse of her father, instinctively feeling that these cold remains could protect her against this living enemy. Captain Pike followed her into the chamber of death, and exclaimed : " You cannot escape me, dearest Lena. The whole country is subjugated, your friends are all ruined, and there is none that dare to offer you protection. Be mine, will- ingly, and " He ceased speaking, without completing the sentence. Lena had suddenly unveiled the face of the dead, and, stood pointing to the lifeless clay. She then placed her hand on the marble brow, and said, in a low, solemn tone, that even startled the villain at her side : " I vow, by the sacred memory of my sainted father, that rather than wed one I despise, rather than be the wife of a murderer, I will sleep with him in the silent grave." Captain Pike was awed by this fearful scene. He stood a moment undecided, then made one threatening gesture, hissed through his teeth " another time," and glided out of the house. * 5}S * * * * * At the same time Hiram Pike departed from this dwell- ing, a man, wearing a Federal uniform, might have been seen half concealed in the adjoining shrubbery. The full moon had risen, in all her splendor, enveloping the earth 204 THE SUNNY LAND ; in'her liquid light, so that objects could easily be distin- guished, and a savage smile broke over his face, as he heard the sound of advancing footsteps. A moment afterwards, he suddenly sprang into the path before Captain Pike, knocked him down, and plunged his knife into his breast, muttering : " Die, murderer — die, assassin — die, fiilse traitor." He quietly contemplated his bloody work, for a few mo- ments, then, as he walked away, muttering, half-aloud : "Xow a murdered father and a ruined sister, are aven- ged. JS'o one will know that I committed the deed. Some poor rebel will be held accountable for it." Alvin Croft imagined that no eye had witnessed this act, but there was another silent actor on the stage. When Captain Pike was conversing with Lena, a man, completely disguised, stood at the window, holding a knife and pistol, watching every movement ; ready to use his weapons, should it become necessary in order to protect the unhappy orphan. When that villain had left the house, he stood irresolute a few moments, then walked around the house, to the front door, and was about to en- ter it, when he heard the struggle. He listened a few moments, and then went to investigate the nature of this unexpected contest. The deed was done when he came in sight, and Alvin Croft was standing motionless, gazing at the murdered officer. As soon as the assassin had de- parted, he went and examined the prostrate form, until he was satisfied life was extinct; after which he said, half- aloud : '' It is hard, 3Ir. Pike, very hard, to die like a dog ; but it is just. You didn't receive a stroke amiss. I am glad Patrick Megram did not have to perform this deed." The Irishman stood, a few moments, in a reflective mood, as if trying to solve some vexatious problem, and then muttered, half-aloud : " This carcass won't suffer, so it can remain until morn- A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 205 ing. Lena is alone, with the dead, but the dead are peace- able. Venie is in the hands of the living, and I would rather risk a whole regiment of ghosts, and the devil him- self, than a pack of prowling Yankees." Patrick Megram now turned his steps towards Mills Eiver, soon reached its banks, and led out his horse from a place of concealment. He then mounted, and went galloping down the road, towards Eavenwood. As soon as Captain Pike had departed, Lena sank down on a chair, and endeavored to collect her scattered thoughts. A quiet hour passed away, and she began to feel some- what reassured, when some sound, resembling a distant groan, fell on her ear. She listened for a time, but all was silent. Again she heard a wail, that arose distinctly on the night air. It seemed to proceed from some one near the house, and indicated the deepest distress. She remained ir- resolute some moments, and listened for its repetition, but she could hear nothing more of it, and finally concluded that she had been mistaken. Lena now labored to become calm. All was quiet for some time, when a most piteous cry of distress fell on her ears. She sprang to her feet. " It must be some one suf- fering," she said ; " some one in pain, some one that needs assistance." She went to the window and opened it, when she could hear the most unearthly groans, but they gradually became inaudible, and finally ceased entirely. She knew not what to think of all this, and was half inclined to attribute it entirely to her excited imagination. Sometimes she sus- pected it was some of the Federals, who were attempting to frighten her from the premises, in order to commit a robbery. Lena returned to her seat, and tried to forget those touching moans, but they still haunted her like a hideous 206 THE SUNNY LAND; phantom of the night. She attempted to concentrate her mind on her present condition, and consider how she should meet the difficulties of the approaching day, and was beginning to succeed, when a long, deep and touching wail of anguish caused her to spring to her feet. She stood trembling, with that natural superstitious dread in- herent in all the human race, until another cry of distress arose, when she resolved to go and learn the cause. She cast one long, lingering look at the corpse of her last and only friend, offered one short and fervent petition to heaven, gathered up a lighted lamp, and walked to the front door, which she opened, and halted to learn from whence the sound proceeded. A low moan was audible, and she walked on, trembling with fear, but determined to unravel the mystery. Suddenly she halted, and shrank back with indescriba- ble horror. There lay Hiram Pike, weltering in his own blood. She was paralyzed, and unable to move. Her tongue bad lost its utterance, and her muscles the power of contraction. Only a few moments had elapsed, when a horseman galloped up to the spot, sprang from his horse, and exclaimed in the broad Irish accent : " Miss Eston, why are you here ? " Lena could not answer. She had no words of welcome for the faithful Irishman to whom she was so much in- debted. His unexpected appearance was to her an inex- pressible relief, and the intense excitement under which she suffered began to subside. Patrick Megram hastily examined his wounded enemy, drew the broken blade of a knife from his breast, and staunched the blood with his handkerchief. He then took the lamp Lena mechanically held in her hand, and gently led her back to the house. Patrick Megram only remained to speak a few hurried words to the unhappy Lena. He must first notify Cap- tain Pike's men where they could find their wounded A STORY OP THE CRUEL WAR. 207 leader, and then adopt measures to arrest the dangers he foresaw would inevitably arise. When Lena was alone, she began to consider the diffi- culties she might reasonably expect to encounter within a few hours. She knew that the Federals sometimes would burn down every house in a neighborhood where any offi- cer had been killed or wounded. She expected H'iram Pike's men to visit "Chola" early in the morning, and trem- bled with fearful apprehensions. She knelt down and commended herself to a merciful and compassionate God. She prayed that prayer of faith which is " the wealth of poverty, the strength of weak- ness, the refuge of trouble, which flies on wings of love to the great white throne, to the ear of Him who never slumbers," to one that has said, " ask and ye shall receive." She then remembered that it was written, " the mountains shall depart, and the hills be removed, but His kindness will not depart," and she recalled the consoling words, "When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee, and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee ; when thou walkest through the fire, thou shall not be burnt, neither shall the flame kindle upon thee." She gradually became calm, and the intense excitement was succeeded by a spirit of resignation. She was finally enabled to look to the hills from whence help cometh, and to say in her heart, " Thy will be done. It is the Lord : let Him do as seemeth to Him good." This long night of sorrow was drawing to a close, and darkness began to disappear before the light of approach- ing day. Lena arose and threw open the window shut- ters, and looked out on the gray mists of morning, which rendered the heights of " Chola" invisible, and shrouded the surrounding hills in gloomy curtains. All nature wore a sombre aspect, and seemed to have draped itself in the habilaments of woe, to keep in unison with bereaved, dis- tressed and weeping mortals. 208 THE SUNNY LAND; A few of the slaves, having grown weary of the Feder- als, returned home early in the morning, and appeared much affected at the death of Mr. Eston. They prepared as good a breakfast as possible, with the small amount of materials that had escaped the rapacious invaders. Lena had no appetite, but she managed to swallow as much food as possible, so that she might be able to meet the expect- ed trials of the day. As she arose from the table, Lieutenant Fukey stalked into the house, followed by a band of armed men, and said, in an insolent tone : " I wish to know who attempted to murder Captain Pike ? " Lena made no response to this query, and he contin- ued : " ITow tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing else but the truth." " I do not know," replied Lena, calmly. " You can easily tell," said the Lieutenant, with a sneer. " You know all about it, and probably hired some black- hearted rebel to do the deed." Lena did not possess a spirit that would quietly submit to such insultino; lano-uasce from a low-bred villain. She replied indignantly, that she would answer no more ques- tions, unless propounded in a respectful manner. " By Jove, you will be glad to answer questions before you are done with this matter," continued the Lieutenant, in a menacing tone. He then turned to a number of slaves, by whom he ex- pected to prove all he desired. He examined one after another, to no purpose, for they all told the same story, and revealed nothing in regard to the attempted murder. The Lieutenant, finding he could learn nothing from the colored people, said, addressing Lena: " I have orders to burn this house, and will do so, unless you deliver up the guilty party." A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 209 " Who gave you such orders? " asked Lena. " My superior," he said, evasively. " The authorities at Eavenwood ? " she said, interroga- tively. Lieutenant Fukey silenced Lena by uttering a few pro- fane oaths, and made no reply to the question. Since Hiram Pike's misfortune, he was the highest in command, and had assumed the threatened responsibility of his own accord. He now turned to the soldiers, and ordered them to carry out Mr. Eston's corpse, after which they might plunder and burn the house. Some half dozen of soldiers now advanced to obey this order, when Lena sprang before them, and stood waving her hands in open defiance. " Do as you are commanded," cried the Lieutenant, but no one stirred. He watched them a moment, and then thundered forth in a furious tone : " Arrest her this moment ! Arrest her instantly ! She shall go to our camp and answer for this murder." There was not a soldier who moved to obey this com- mand. They all gazed at her silently, and neither moved nor spoke. There was something in that sorrowful face so lovely, so gentle, and so pure, that touched their hardened hearts, aroused some sense of pity, and caused them to stand awed and motionless. " Dare you disobey orders," cried the excited Lieuten- ant. '' rU have you punished. Lay hold of her this mo- ment," he added, stamping his foot upon th^ floor. At the same time this scene was occurring, a tall, broad- shouldered, and well-made negro man, who had ever been the property of Mr. Eston, known as the " Sampson of the plantation," was gradually elbowing his way through the soldiers, towards the daughter of his late master. He said nothing, but any close observer might have read the deep indignation he felt, as he stood with his arm^s folded across his breast. Lieutenant Fukey advanced towards Lena, and found Sampson in his way. 210 THE SUNNY land; "Stand aside/' he said, in a crasty tone, to which he appended an oath. The colored man remained stationary, without so much as moving a muscle of the foce. " Get out of my way," he continued, "you black imp,'!, and at the same time gave him a sudden push. This was more than Sampson could bear, and he in- stantly planted his huge fist between the Lieutenant's eyes, and the next blow he knocked out a number of his teeth, and sent him reeling across the floor. The negro man would have been butchered instantly, by the furious soldiers, had no one interfered in his behalf, but the next moment, a Federal officer, bearinor the rank of Major, apj^eared in their midst, accompanied by Pat- rick Xegram and a squad of soldiers, who ordered the room to be cleared immediately. Major Hunter, who had appeared at such an auspicious moment, had been induced to visit " Chola" at the instance of Patrick Megram. He was, in every respect, a gentle- man, and always ready to protect the innocent and help- less victims of war. That same afternoon, Mr. Eston was buried at the foot of Mount Chola. When that solemn service was over, Lena returned to the dwelling-house, lonely, sad and deso- late. The exciting scenes through which she had passed , had, in somemieasure, diverted her mind from her irrepar- able loss, but her grief now returned with redoubled force. All was darkness and gloom, without a ray of light, un- til she recalled the words : " Why art thou so cast down, oh, my soul ? why art thou so disquieted within me ? hope thou in Grod ; " and then, after a few moment's reflection, she said to herself: " Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal." A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 211 Suddenly hope seemed to spring up in her breast, and, after a few moments, she repeated, in mournful sadness : " Why throb, my heart, why sink, my saddening soul ; Why droop to the earth by various foes opprest ? My ears may yet in blissful circles run, And peace be yet an inmate of my breast.' ' 212 THE SUNNY LAND J CHAPTEE XXYIII. Venie Ardin's Adventures. It was on a dark, cloudy and disagreeable night, when Yenie Ardin set out for Haysville, for the purpose of warn- ing her friend of her danger; but she was a fearless rider, made rapid progress, and reached her destination soon after day-light. She proceeded immediately to the resi- dence of John Burton, and aroused the family much ear- lier than they were accustomed to rise. " You must be fleeing from the Yankees," said Annie Linton. " No, indeed,^' replied Yenie, " but I came to advise you to escape." " It would be useless," said Annie, in a sorrowful tone. ^' All our toil and labor has proved in vain. After having sacrificed everything, we hear the last expiring groan of the Confederacy." Yenie now informed her friend of her danger from Cap- tain Pike, and soon convinced her it would be advisable to keep out of the reach of that desperado ; and as he was liable to send for her that morning, she concluded to leave without delay. Annie immediately began to prepare for her proposed flight. As soon as she had partaken of a hasty breakfast she bid them all a kind and afi'ectionate adieu, and set out for parts unknown. She took the road leading to Eaven- wood, but as soon as she was alone, she changed her course, and travelled in another direction. A STORY OP THE CRUEL WAR. 213 Yenie was detained some time longer, but finally mount- ed Zep, and was about to proceed home, when a squad of cavalry, belonging to Captain Pike's command, galloped up to the door and halted. These men were under the direction of a tall, uncouth, and ungainly East Tennessean, who issued his orders in a pompous style, and then threw out of his mouth an enor- mous quid of tobacco, preparatory to proceeding with the business of the day. Yenie saw that flight was impossible, and concluded to remain quiet on her animal, and await the result. " Does Mr. Burton live here?" asked the backwoodsman, in a long, drawling tone, addressing a frightened negro girl, who stood gazing at the first blue coat she had ever witnessed, with a strange mixture of fear and admiration. Yenie imagined that this was a favorable moment to make her escape, and attempted to ride away, when he turned from the servant, and cried, in a coarse, creaking voice : " Stop thar — I say stop thar, rite off." Yenie obeyed this peremptory command in silence, when he continued : *' Well, that's a rael good boss, or Bill Blumer aint no judge. Hit's the rite kind of hossflesh for the sarvice, eh ! I'le bet hit can run darned fast, eh ! " then added, abrupt- ly : " what mout your name be ? " "Yenie Ardin," replied the frightened young lady. " Ardin, you say Ardin — Yenie," he repeated such a name ; now say, haint hit Annie Linton ? " " It is not," she replied, Bill Blumer, as he was known in his native regions, now turned to his own men, and said : "See here, fellers, that gal says she hain't the wun we wants, so I guess we are arter the wrong critter ; " he then added, in a lower tone: "wonder if that boss is hern?" 214 THE SUNNY LAND; " Ask the niggers/' said a soldier. " Yes," continued Bill Blumer; "bring'out the woolly- heads, and then we'll git the truth all at once." The kitchen department were all summoned, who alike testified that the lady in question was not Annie Linton, and that she rode her own horse. They also informed them that the lady they sought, had left early that morn- ing in the direction of Eavenwood, upon which Mr. Blum- er dispatched a portion of his squad in pursuit, with or- ders to take her dead or alive. Yenie now imagined she would escape, but unfortunate- ly one of the colored witnesses repeated her name so often that a new idea entered the backwoodsman's obtuse brain. He drew a paper out of his pocket containing a list of spotted citizens, and after a long and labored effort, suc- ceeded in deciphering Yenie Ardin. A smile broke over his coarse features, as he again looked at her horse, which he so much coveted, and ordered her to be arrested and taken to Captain Pike's head-quarters. A moment afterwards, a mounted company of Federals from Eavenwood, made their appearance. Yenie appealed to the officer in command, hoping he would set her at lib- erty. He examined the slaves in regard to her visit to Haysville, and then decided that he would take her before the Provost Marshal, at Eavenwood. Thus she escaped the clutches of Hiram Pike, and fell into the hands of a more polished horde of invaders. It was late in the afternoon when Yenie Ardin entered Eavenwood, escorted by a number of Federal soldiers, and was immediately taken before a sour, crusty, ignorant and repulsive officer, then acting as Provost Marshal, who de- clared that her case must be defei-red, and ordered her to be kept secure until the following morning. It was all in vain that Yenie requested an immediate examination of the unknown charges against her, and frankly related the present condition of her uncle. A STORY OP THE CRUEL WAR. 215 She was told that she must remain in Eavenwood until she could have a regular hearing. She then asked that she might be permitted to stay at the residence of her friend, Mrs. Dowell, and finally gained a reluctant con- sent. She was given a room on the second floor, to which there was but one entrance, where a guard was placed, in order to prevent her escape. She was told she must re- main here until some time the next day, when she would be taken before the same Provost Marshal. As soon as things were quiet, Yenie began to consider how she might escape. A guard was at the door, and she did not sujDpose they would be removed. She next exam- ined the windows, but they were so high that she could not possibly reach the ground below. Weary, care-worn and troubled, she finally lay down to sleep, but she was so much excited, she could not enjoy this luxury. Some time in the after part of the night, she heard the window sash raised, and saw a man's face by the light of the moon. She sprang up, much alarmed ; but the next moment a voice whispered : " No danger — Pat Megram." She went to the window, and found that he stood on a ladder he had planted against the dwelling. She hastily descended to the ground, and then silently followed the Irishman to an unfrequented portion of the village, where he pointed out to her Zep, her favorite animal, assisted her into the saddle, and then mounted another horse. They now easily evaded the pickets, passed through a dense forest, and, after a short ride, reached the residence of Thomas McKim, a well-known Southern gentleman. Here they aroused the family, and made known the cause of this unreasonable visit. As soon as Mr. McKim learned Yenie's condition, he proposed sending his son George, a sprightly youth, to accompany her across the mountains, and Patrick Megram mounted his horse, and set out again for "Chola," where his services were demanded. 216 THE SUNNY LAND J It was near da^'light before George McKim and Yenie were ready to proceed on their journey". They were both well mounted, and rode on rapidly for more than an hour without seeing or hearing of the enemy, when they met a Mr. Eush, a well-known and aged individual, who in- formed them that a band of Federals had preceded them, and were in pursuit of some lady that had escaped from Kavenwood. "Whilst they were considering what course they would pursue, George spied a company of blue coats advanc- ing. He turned to Yenie, and said, hastily : '•' There come the Yankees. Take that cross road which will lead to Hillsburg, and make Zep do his best. I will remain here and detain them as long as possible." Yenie only had time to disappear over the brow of the hill, when the Yankees reached George McKim, and halt- ed. At the same moment, the leader of the band exclaim- ed, in a savage tone : "Where is that lady?" " She went down the road," replied George, quietly. "What road? — answer quick," he cried, with an oath. George purposely touched his sj^irited animal with the spur, in order to evade an immediate answer. " Who was that lady ? " repeated the officer, in an im- patient tone. Again George caused his horse to make a sudden plunge, and it appeared to require all his efforts to manage the unruly animal. "I do not remember her name," said Mr. Eush, truth- fully. " Do you know a young man called George McKim, some twenty or twenty-five years of age?" " Xo one of that age," replied George. " Of any other age ? " " Yes," replied the youth ; " there is old uncle George McKim, as everybody calls him, and then there is little George." A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 217 "Perhaps little George is the one. Would you know him?" " I think I would." "Is he with that lady?" " " No ; she is alone." " What was her name? " "Yenie — Yenie Ardin." "She is the lady we wish to see ;" and then added, hur- riedly : " which way did she go ? " " Down the road," said George. "What road?" Again George touched his horse with the spur, and it required some seconds to bring it into subjection. " What road? " cried the officer, with a fierce oath, and a threatening gesture. George saw it would be dangerous to parley any longer, and correctly answered the question. The Yankees set out in pursuit, and George watched them until they had passed over the brow of the hill, when he immediately put spurs to his horse, vowing that he would follow another path, and first reach Hillsburg. Yenie rode slow some distance, fearing she would at- tract the attention of the Federals, and cause an imme- diate pursuit, then gave Zep the reins, and proceeded at an alarming speed. She had travelled in this manner about four miles, when she perceived the enemy in her rear, some of whom were evidently well mounted. The race now began in earnest. She went flying past farm and country seat, over hill and valley, followed by the blue coats, yelling like a pack of blood-hounds, sure of their prey, evidently determined not to be baflled by a feeble woman. She soon reached Hillsburg, and went dashing down its principal street, to the great astonishment of its inhabi- tants, some of whom recognized the fearless rider; and after her came George McKim, followed by a number of 10 218 THE SUNNT LAND; Yankees, spurring their foaming steeds, cursing, swearing and yelling, like so many incarnate fiends, in human shape. The enemy finally grew weary of the chase, and per- mitted them to quietly pursue their way across the mountains. A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 219 CHAPTEE XXIX. t A Guilty Conscience. A FEW weeks after the incidents related in the previous chapters had occurred at " Chola," Alvin Croft, the would- be assassin, was seated in the bar of a second-class hotel in Knoxville. He was pale, haggard, and care-worn, and actually seemed to have suddenly grown old and decrepid. He had taken the law in his own hands, for the purpose of avenging the wrongs that had been perpetrated against his father and sister, and he now believed he had succeeded in wreaking his fury on the guilty party. In order that he might hide his designs, he had joined the Union Guards under an assumed name. He then watched for a favorable opportunity to strike the intended blow, but none occurred until they reached " Chola." On that night he saw Captain Pike dismiss his attendants and proceed alone to Mr. Eston's residence. He secretly fol- lowed him to that place and awaited his return with a re- sult already known to the reader. Alvin Croft left ;N"orth Carolina, believing he had mur- dered the man he despised, and avenged his relatives. He made his escape to Knoxville, where he met Nell Tucker, and paid her the sum of money he had promised when the deed should be accomplished. As soon as he had time for reflection, he became almost distracted at the thought of having murdered a fellow, creature in cold blood. He had only killed a man who richly deserved death — a man who had murdered his 220 THE SUNNY LAND ; helpless father and innocent sister — a man who had been guilty of many infamous crimes — yet he could not forget that the criminal had never been legally condemned, and that the law provided an authorized executioner to inflict the penalty. He had not shed innocent blood, yet he felt that the stain of blood was on his soul. Alvin Croft yet remained in the bar-room, wearing a sad countenance, with his eyes fixed on the floor, when some persons entered. A voice fell on his ears which made him start to his feet. He looked up wildly at the visitors and saw a sight which chilled his heart's blood and deprived him of the power of motion. He stood with his eyes fixed and glaring on the exact image of the man he had murdered, in every respect, except that his face was unusually pale. As Hiram Pike drained the glass of liquor, his eyes fell on the terrified Alvin Croft. He replaced the tumbler on the counter somewhat nervously, and then advanced towards the trembling wretch, who had recently attempted to take his life. They gazed at each other a few moments in silence, and then Captain Pike said in a low tone : " I wish to speak with you alone." Alvin Croft's lips moved, but his words were inaudible, and the Captain continued in the same quiet tone, " I pre- sume our conference will not prove tedious." Mr. Croft, pale, trembling, and scarcely knowing whether he was in the presence of the living or the dead, mechan- ically followed his enemy into the adjoining room, where they again faced each other, and Captain Pike continued : " You attempted to murder me like a cowardly assassin." '• I thought you were dead," muttered the excited Mr. Croft. "You made a poor job of it," said Captain Pike, in a sarcastic tone. " I am glad I did not succeed," stammered out the con- fused Mr. Croft. A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 221 " A very reasonable statement." " It is true." " A remarkable assertion." " I have myself suffered a thousand deaths for the deed I thought I had committed." " You only have one more to endure ; but tell me what was your motive ? " " My father and sister, whom — " " Enough," said Hiram Pike, interrupting him in the midst of the sentence ; and then continued, " your name is " " Alvin Croft." " Do you still wish to execute vengeance on me." "iJ^fo! never." " Now choose between peace or war," said Captain Pike. " I came in here with the determination of blowing out your brains, but since I have learned who you are, you can make your choice, and I will abide by your decision." " Peace," said Alvin Croft. They shook hands cordially, and then went into the the bar-room and drank together as if they had ever been the best of friends, after which they separated with the mutual understanding, that the past should be buried in the grave of oblivion. That same afternoon Captain Pike visited Pennie Eay. mond, as he was now accustomed to do every day. She laughed, talked, and acted the agreeable with such perfec- tion that he gradually became cheerful. He imagined that she was unusually attractive, and was completely charmed and captivated. Pennie Eaymond had given up all hope of ever winning Edward Ashton, and Captain Pike knew that Lena was lost to him forever. They had experienced similar disap- pointments, and were drawn towards each other by the peculiar circumstances which all concurred to unite their destinies. 222 THE SUNNY LAND; They flat together, conversing on topics that suited their mutual tastes, and every now and then Pennie would lift her soft, languid eyes and fix them on his face. He could not resist the electrical influence, and began to feel a fresh flame in his breast, kindled by the " Fantastic tyrant of the amorous heart." " A new ring," he said, taking Pennie's soft and plump hand within his own. He had before experienced the magic of her eyes, but oh, how much stronger was the sensation of touch ! and without observing her reply, he continued: " You possess a beautiful hand." " You do not think so," she said, in her sweetest tone. " Indeed I do," he replied, as he bestowed on it a consid- erable pressure, and then added : " You are a sweet, bewitching creature." " Idle words," she said, languidly. " I wish I had married you when I had an opportuni- ty." " I thought you loved another." "True," he replied, "and you did likewise. !N"ow, I propose that we get married and be happy." In order to be fashionable, the " Belle of two Cities " threw down her head, looked at the carpet, and blushed like a bashful maid of sixteen. "Let me have an answer — a positive yes or no," he said eao-erlv. " Yes," she breathed, and Hiram Pike instantly clasped the voluptuous beauty in his arms and kissed her again and again with a rapturous delight. After the first trans- ports of happiness were over, he^continued : " When shall we be married." " I leave that to you," replied Pennie. "I propose next Wednesday." " That will suit me." A STORY OP THE CRUEL WAR. 223 '' I suggest/' continued Hiram, " that we have a private affair in this house, and only invite two or three friends. I will speak to the Rev. Obadiah Stanton to be present." " I agree to this arrangement," replied Pennie. After all theprelimiuaries of the intended marriage had been settled, the Captain continued : '' As it would not be safe for me to reside here, where I have made so many enemies, and as I have no desire to again live in Cincinnati, I propose that we visit Nashville as soon as we are married, then call on your friends in Ohio, after which we will seek a new home in the West.'' Pennie heard this announcement with evident surprise and looked up with an air of disappointment. She knew he had owned a magnificent residence in the Queen City of the West, and was reputed wealthy. She expected to soon be mistress of this mansion, to ride in a fine carriage, and to live in luxurious ease. She imagined she could easily prevail upon him to give up such a wild pro- ject, and replied evasively that they would first visit their friends and then consider the propriety of seeking a new home." Three long weary days had passed away since Hiram Pike had vowed for the second time to wed the beautiful " Belle of two Cities," and was ready to pass through the closing ceremony. He was now somewhat reconciled to the loss of the fair Lena, vainly imagining that the beau- tiful Pennie could charm his drooping spirits, drive away the pangs of a guilty conscience, and secure him against the stalking phantoms that often disturbed his slumbers. When he had reached the residence of Mrs. Duree, he found that the Rev. Stanton had preceded him for the pur- pose of performing his part in the approaching marriage. Pennie was handsomelj^ dressed, and received her future husband with a great profusion of smiles and affectionate words. 224 THE SUNNY LAND; " How lovely ! " exclaimed Captain Pike. " Why did I not secure you long ago ? " he added, as he surveyed the queenly beauty. " If we had married then," replied Pennie, laughing, " we would have been deprived of the present pleasure." A few minutes afterwards they appeared before the par- son, who, according to the custom of his Church, opened with a long prayer, then delivered a lecture on the insti- tution of marriao-e, and enumerated some of the duties of the relations they were about to assume. He finally came to the closing part of the ceremony, when they united their hands, and Captain Pike made the usual promises. The parson then asked Pennie, if she took that man to be her lawful wedded husband, and would promise to love, cherish, and keep him until death ; but before she had time to reply, a tall, coarse-featured, and ungainly •woman dashed into the room with a wild exclamation, made a threatening gesture at the parson which effectually sealed his lips, and then" turned around facing the couple that stood on the floor. She remained motionless a few seconds with her eyes fixed on Hiram Pike, and then pointed at him her long, bony fingers. Pennie sank back into a chair, pale, trembling, and speechless, and the con- fused parson muttered some incoherent words that resem- bled, " I pronounce you husband and wife." " That man is a murderer," exclaimed the coarse-featured woman, in a shrill tone ; '' and when you want the evidence, call on Xell Tucker." She now glanced around the room, then cast another scornful look at Captain Pike, accompanied by a most ex- pressive gesture, and glided out of the house before the in- mates had time to recover from their astonishment. A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 225 CHAPTEE XXX. A Miserable Death. Let us again revisit Nashville, once the delightful home of the Jacksons, Polks, and similar spirits ; but now the tyrant-cursed capital of the proud " Yolunteer State " — the plaything of ignoble despots — the resting-place of demons in human shape, reeking with every crime that ever disgraced our poor, fallen and corrupt race. We could weep over the ruined capital, and shed a tear of pity at the recollection of the woes a noble and brave, but down-trodden people were compelled to endure, under the dark reign of bloody Satraps and irres2:)onsible military governors, who only needed the addition of a Spanish In- quisition, in order to perfect their exquisite tortures. Captain Pike and his bride of three weeks had occupied rooms in a second-class hotel, in Nashville, and proposed to spend a few days in this chosen seat of a Military Beast. The apartment was small and poorly furnished ; the walls were dingy, and the bed curtains torn and soiled. A large trunk, partially unpacked, stood open; a number of articles of dressing were piled on a chair, and every- thing about the room seemed to be in confusion. There sat Pennie, once the belle of two cities. A cloud rested on her brow, indicating that the sweets of wedded life had proved delusive — that the honeymoon of pleasure had passed away — that the mild Indian summer of mar- ried life was over, and that the storms of winter were ap- proaching. On the opposite side of that apartment was 10* 226 THE SUNNY LAND J her husband, who wore a dark and scowling countenance, and looked as ill-natured and grum as if he had been sur- feited on matrimonial bliss. He had evidently been drink- ing to excess, and his whole appearance bespoke a wretch- ed man in a desperate condition. Such is marriage without love, and such the happiness any woman may expect, who, regardless of consequences, will sell themselves for gold. Pennie had made a sad but common mistake. Hiram Pike could not have made her happy and contented, with all the wealth of modern Ophir. She would still have remained ignorant of the bliss of wedded life, which is reserved alone for pure hearts, united by an unchangeable love. The words of Nell Tucker, when she interrupted the marriage ceremony at Knoxville, had made a deep impres- sion on Pennie's mind, and on the following day after that occurrence, she managed to have an interview with that masculine virago, who took a special pleasure in detailing the information she possessed, and, in conclusion, demand- ed one thousand dollars as the least sum that would induce her to remain quiet, w^hich, she said, must be paid within two days. Captain Pike was utterly unable to raise this sum of money. In fact, he had not sufficient to set out for the West. He had previously placed his business in Cin- cinnati, in the hands of an agent, and hoped to be able to save about two thousand dollars out of the remainder of his once handsome property. He instantly wrote to his attorney, to remit funds to Nashville as soon as possible ; then borrowed a few dollars, and set out for that place, without divulging his alarming condition to his wife. Here he put up in a second-rate hotel, in the room we have described, and took the further precaution to register under an assumed name, hoping thereby to elude the wo- man he so much dreaded. They had now been in the city some days, during which A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 227 Hiram Pike wa3 continually under the influence of liquor. He spent a great portion of his time in drinking saloons, carousing with kindred spirits, whilst his distressed and unhappy bride remained alone at the boarding house, un- willing to let her relatives and acquaintances even know that she was then in the city. She was only anxious to proceed to Ohio, where she could see her mother, and un- burden her troubled heart. Such had been the first three weeks of their wedded life, and they now sat, facing each other in a manner which bespoke an approaching storm of angry words. " What makes you look so infernal sulky ? " said Cap- tain Pike. An angry reply sprang to Pennie's lips, but she choked it down with flashing eyes and bloodless lips ; and after a few moments, she replied, as pleasantly as possible : "I am anxious to see my mother." " To see the Devil," he cried ; " I am penniless, and have not sufficient money to pay our bill for board ! " "Send to Cincinnati," she said, quietly, still endeavoring to suppress her anger. " I might as well send to London," he said, with a fierce oath. " You have property there." "Not a particle, and my attorney now writes that he can't secure me one dollar. Here is his letter, you can read it ; and then pout and cry as much as you please. She received the letter mechanically, and glanced over its contents. When she had finished perusing it, he con- tinued: " Now, I suppose, you will admit that we are a couple of beggars." Pennie instantly burst into tears. She had married a man she disliked, to secure wealth, and now she knew him to be a penniless villain, whose hands had been stain- ed with innocent blood. 228 THE SUNNY LAND J " None of your hysterical spells," said Hiram, bitterly. Every fibre of her body quivered with suppressed pas- sion ; her eyes gleamed with a dangerous light, and spark- led in a manner that her husband had never before wit- nessed. It was no passing emotion ; no fiction of feeling, but the condensation of daily insults, gathering and swell- ing in her heart, until it seemed ready to burst. She sprang to her feet, and said with dilated nostrils, quivering lips and burning cheeks: '' You have basely deceived me." " You are an impudent huzzy," retorted Hiram Pike, "and married me for nn^ property." She stood as impassive as marble, a few moments, and said, with a suffocating sob : "You are a murderer; I hate — I despise you." "No love lost," cried her husband, angrily. " I have yoked myself to a criminal of the deepest dye," she added, passionately. " I wish you were dead and rotten." "Perhaps I will share the fate of your former victims." "Hold your rattle-clap tongue, or I will mash your mouth," he exclaimed, furiously'. A knock at the door interrupted this disgraceful scene, and the servant entered, bearing a note directed to Cap- tain Pike, which he instantly opened and said aloud, "from Lieutenant Pukey." He instantly left his weeping wife, and proceeded to the parlor, where he found the visitor pacing the room in a most excited manner. Lieutenant Fukey had, on that morning, reached Nash- ville, and accidentally seeing Nell Tucker on the street, he followed her through curiosit}', until he saw her enter the office of Justice of the Peace. He remained without until she had departed, then went in and learned that she had preferred charges against Hiram Pike, describing his per- son, and directing them to his present residence. Seeing that these charges would implicate himself, he had now come to warn the Captain of his danger. A STORY OP THE CRUEL WAR. 229 When Lieutenant Fukey had related the information he possessed, he added : " You must leave the city immediately, and avoid an arrest." " I have not the money ! " exclaimed Hiram Pike, trem- bling like an aspen. " No, I cannot leave here." " Unfortunate," said the Lieutenant. " You can assist me." "How?" " Loan me some money." " I do not possess it," said the Lieutenant. " You know I had to hire Nell Tucker to keep a still tongue in regard to that old Eebel we slaughtered, and I now have nothing left out of the spoils we collected in East Tennessee, ex- cept a few silver spoons, forks, and similar articles. These iive now in my trunk, but I could not cash them in this city." Captain Pike stood in speechless horror a few mo- ments, and then said, in a despairing tone : "I can do nothing, unless you will assist me." "If you remain, I must save myself by flight," contin- ued the Lieutenant, then added : "should I be taken, I will become State's evidence." "And witness against me ? " " It would not make your condition any more desperate. Nell Tucker can easily produce evidence against you suflS- cient to hang fifty men." "I may be arrested any moment," said Hiram Pike, with chattering teeth. "You may, indeed," replied Lieutenant Fukey, and I must bid you a hasty adieu, and look to my own safety." Thus these two companions in crime parted, unable to assist each other in their last extremity, and Captain Pike returned to his room, feeling that the day of retribution had arrived. It was beginning to grow dark, and he mechan- ically lighted the gas, and began pacing to and fro across 230 THE SUNNY LAND; the room, without so much as casting a single glance at his unhappy wife. " Tea has been ready some time," said Pennie. He made no answer, and his wife, supposing he was yet in an angry mood, walked down to the dining room alone. Here she met some agreeable acquaintances, and lingered at the table much longer than usual, dreading again to meet with her irritable husband. Finally she left the dining-room, and slowly walked back to her apartment. When near the door, she heard her husband's voice, and stood listening, fearing that he was intoxicated. " Oh, Lord ! " he exclaimed, " oh ! it is terrible — dying tormented by devils, wracked by pain. Oh, mercy ! mer- cy ! ! mercy ! ! ! " Mrs. Pike rushed into the room, and found her husband on the bed, enduring terrible sufferings. " What is the matter ? " she asked, nervously. " Poisoned ! poisoned ! ! poisoned ! ! ! " he exclaimed. " How — with what ? " she asked. "Strychnine — I swallowed it — send for the doctor ; " and then added: " be quick," now much terrified at the near approach of death. ^Pennie instantly dispatched a servant for a jDhysician, and the sufferer continued to cry aloud for help, which soon brought in the alarmed proprietor of the house, ac- companied by a couple of clerks. " The officers ! " cried Hiram, as they entered. " Away, way, ye fiends; too late — too late — too late." The doctor now came in, and the moment Hiram Pike heard his name called, he ceased his hideous raving, and begged him most piteously to give him something that would speedily put an end to his life. " Oh ! doctor, doctor, doctor, help me ! " he groaned. The next moment he sprang up in the bed, and pointed to some imaginary object. A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 231 " There comes Croft, followed by that grey-headed Eeb- el; see — there is blood on his white beard! Ah, their eyeballs, how they glare at me ! " Thus he raved, until he fell back into the bed exhausted, and continued : " Oh ! I am dying, dying, dying," he cried, in piteous tones. "Oh, the torments of hell — oh, my soul's lost, eter- nally lost!" Such was the miserable end of this man who had open- ly violated the laws of both God and man — "heaping up wrath against the day of wrath." 232 THE SUNNY LAND; CHAPTER XXX I. Venie Ardin's Lonely Vigils. "We have seen that Yeuie Ardin escaped from the Fed- erals, and succeeded in crossing the mountains in safety. She proceeded to the residence of Samuel Eagleton, her uncle by his first marriage, who lived in a quiet country- seat, located on one of the principal thoroughfares in that region. He was a plain, honest, old-fashioned farmer, possessing more than ordinary intelligence, and much practical sense. He was a good neighbor, kind, generous, and hospitable. He owned some excellent lands, and, previous to the war, might have been considered wealthy. Yenie's aunt had died many years previous, and she had never heard much of the family, but as she had been driven from her home by the invading army, she conclud- ed to pay them a visit. She was received with the utmost kindness by her uncle, and JVIrs. Eagleton, his second wife, proved an agreeable lady, and soon made her unexpected visitor feel at home. Then followed an exciting period of a few weeks. The hand-writing on the wall had appeared in legible charac- ters, revealing that the fate of the Confederacy was sealed beyond all hope of redemption, and was like a storm- tossed vessel, pursued by a relentless foe, in mid ocean, about to sink iuto the angry waters; whose mariners were alike unwilling to trust themselves to furious waves, or to surrender to an implacable enemy. A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 233 Such were the feelings of a noble band of warriors who had long borne the heat and burden of the day, as the fall of Eichmond, and the surrender of the last great armies followed each other in quick succession. These were sad days throughout the sunny South, when the cries of a subjugated people were drowned by the frantic populace of the dominant North ; when mourning millions were mocked and derided by a victorious enemy; when groans, wails and lamentations of a multitude were unheeded by a reckless majority, who were singing te deums, and shouting hallelujahs over the destruction of a once glorious, but ruined republic ; when bloody coercion had triumphed, and subverted the rights of every free- man ; when the sun of liberty had set in thick darkness, and the political heavens were shrouded in an impenetra- ble gloom. No wonder Yenie became despondent. She was anxious to learn the fate of Lena Eston, whom she had left at the mercy of an unprincipled foe. She was distressed at the universal ruin that had been visited upon the whole country, and troubled at the terrible suiferings which every where existed. Many weary months had passed away since she had heard from Graham Hardee, and she was at a loss whether to number him with the living or the dead. One day, from morning until night, the broken ranks of the discomfited Confederates were straggling by Mr. Eagleton's residence, in an almost ceaseless stream. Many of the sick, weary, and suffering called at this place, and, so far as possible, all their wants were supplied, but their stay was generally short, as a victorious enemy was re- ported to be in pursuit. Yenie remained at her uncle's until late in the afternoon, and then visited a family residing a short distance from that place. Soon after she had departed, her aunt was called away to see a sick neighbor, who had been taken dangerously ill ; and the slaves, hearing that the Yankee 234 THE SUNNY LAND ; soldiers had arrived at a neighboring village, all suddenly disappeared, so that Mr. Eagleton alone remained at home. He sat down in his front door, and began to review the retreating squads of war-worn Confederates as they pass- ed his residence. Their forlorn, weary and dejected ap- pearance excited his compassionate heart. Some were al- most naked, many were pale, haggard and feeble, and all seemed much dispirited. If he had possessed the means, he would have gladly supplied all their wants, but he feared that his own family would soon be reduced to star- vation. An ambulance now appeared, containing some of the sick, wounded and disabled soldiers, accompanied by a Colonel, who rode up to Mr. Eagleton, and said : " We have an officer in this ambulance who was wound- ed this morninor durinff a skirmish. It would endanorer his life to remove him a greater distance." " Do you wish to leave him here ? " asked Mr. Eagle- ton. " If you please," continued the Confederate. " He is a gallant officer, that has passed through many battles. He had the misfortune to be captured, and recently returned from Johnson's Island." " I have not much," replied Mr. Eagleton, " and I will have less when the Yankees reach this neighborhood; but I would divide my last cake with a Confederate soldier." As the wounded officer was carried into the house, he continued : " The shot he received was not serious, but his horse was killed at the same time, and he was thrown against some rocks. His head is considerably bruised, and he ap- pears to be somewhat deranged." As soon as the Confederates had departed, Mr. Eagle- ton went to the bedside, and began to examine the wound- ed Major. " What shall I do," he said. " There is not a human A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 235 being on the plantation that I can send for a physician. The poor fellow will die, if something is not done for him immediately." When he had finished his soliloquy, he walked to the door, and met Yenie Ardin coming in. " I am glad to see you," he said. ''Are you alone? " " There is no one here but a wounded soldier, a rebel officer, who has received a contusion on the head. He is bad off, and I will leave him in your care and go after the doctor." " Who is he ? " asked Yenie. " Some Major; I did not hear his name," he said, as he hastily passed on, determined to find a physician as soon as possible. Yenie entered the room where the wounded Confeder- ate lay. It was beginning to grow dark, and she could not see the features of the sufferer. She gathered up a match, struck a light, and was about to apply it to the wick of a lamp, when a groan, and some incoherent words startled her in a singular manner. There was something about that voice which seemed familiar, which awoke the memory of the past, and caused the blood to course through her veins with increased velocity, •' I must have been mistaken," she thought, as she pro- ceeded to adjust the lamp. " It was only a similar voice, for Graham Hardee is not here, and perhaps not alive." Again the sufferer moaned, and his words became more distinct. She imagined she heard her own name pro- nounced in mournful accents. She gathered up the lamp with a trembling hand, rushed to the bedside, and there lay Graham Hardee, now wounded, suffering and de- ranged. She kissed his pale brow, smoothed back the matted hair from his forehead, and the next moment observ- ed the blood on his garments. She instantly recalled the 236 THE SUNNY LAND; words the mountain sibjl had spoken long before that time, and rej^eated her prophecy : " You will shed tears, many bitter tears," and then concluded with the exclaim- ation, '' blood I blood ! " Mr. Eagleton now came in with the physician, who ex- amined the sufferer's wounds, pronounced his case some- what critical, administered some remedies, and then began ^o talk about a blow ab extra, which he feared had com- pressed DURA MATER, He referred to the probable con- sequences SECUNDUM NATURUM, and appended a long list of medical terms, which were all nonsense to the honest farmer, who could not see the use of sj)eaking in an un- known language. The doctor's learned phrases were here interrupted by the restless patient, who began to mutter and moan so loud as to attract his attention. " Brain fever," said the physician, the first intelligent words he had used for some time, and then added : " He will be raving like a madman before morning." They were all silent a few moments, when the doctor continued : " I must now leave you, and visit some more patients. This is a horrible time, bellum internecinum ; a murder- ous war, BELLUM lethale. After having thus enlighten- ed Mr. Eagleton, he took his departure, conjugating an irregular Greek verb, in order to keep his nerves quiet, and drive out of his mind all thoughts of the Yankee in- vaders. As Mrs. Eagleton did not return that night, Yenie watched with her uncle at the bedside of the wounded officer, until near midnight, when that aged gentleman lay down on the sofa to rest, and soon fell into a deep sleep. She remained with Graham Hardee, who was evi- dently growing worse hour after hour, and with her own hands moisted his parched lips, soothed his feverish brow, and administered the prescribed remedies. He lay in a A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 237 deep stupor some time, and then appeared to be partially aroused. He opened his eyes, and looked at Yenie with a dull, vacant stare. " Do you know me ? " she inquired. A smile played over his flushed face a moment, and then died away. " You do not remember me ? " she continued. Again he looked at her for a few seconds with a strange glare, and then his ej^elids closed. She sank back into the chair, and indulged in many ' painful reflections. " Perhaps he will die," she said, bit- terly, " and never recognize me, and never know how well he has been loved. Perhaps this night will put an end to the brightest dream of my existence." Many were the bitter tears she shed as she passed her lonely vigils watching by the couch of the wounded Confederate. Major Hardee had undergone many hardships in the array, and had recently endured a long term in a miserable Yankee prison ; yet he possessed a vigorous constitution. His system soon rallied ; he began to improve, and in a few days he was able to leave his couch and take some light exercise in the open air. He was exceedingly grateful to Yenie for her kindness, yet he sincerely wished they had never again met. He loved her with the warmest affections of his heart, yet he believed that it was all in vain. He was happy when he could listen to her musical voice, watch her soul-lit face, and bask in the sunshine of her smiles, yet he imagined they must soon part forever. One beautiful May day they strolled out together, and followed the highway, where the fences had been burned, and the fields laid waste, by invading armies : but the sun was shining brightly, and the trees beginning to put forth their tender leaves. "How lovely is the spring of the year," said Yenie. *' Beautiful ! " replied Graham. 238 THE SUNNY LAND J " The most delightful season, " she continued, " and a fit emblem of our changeable lives/' " A few days ago, our broken and dispirited ranks were retreating past, pressed by a victorious enemy : the whole country was laid waste, and our native land seemed doomed to eternal desolation ; but now all nature begins to put on her gay attire, reminding us that there is a brighter future." "The Sunny South," said Yenie, "may yet become the garden-spot of the world." " It will," replied Graham, " sooner or later, but I am fearful we will first endure a long period of oppression. Should the dominant faction of the Xorth suffer us to quietly resume our relations with the general government, and cease to meddle with our domestic affairs, we would soon become prosperous; but if they are governed by prejudice, hatred, malice, and ill-will, and attempt to make the freedmen our equals, we may expect a long reign of desolation, anarchy, and confusion. Such a policy would produce a bitter struggle, blight all hopes of future pros- perity, and finally result in a war of extermination." " The South has suffered much, and lost everything," said Yenie. "Yes," he continued, gloomily, " sorrow has found its way deep into every household, and we are, to-day, an af- flicted, desolate and bereaved people. Suffering was not confined to the pale, sad, care-worn veteran, * As he lay on his pallet of straw, By the wolf-scarring faggot that guarded the slain,' for, as the war rolled on, tribulations thickened, and soon reached a multitude, who, until then, had never known the roughness of a summer wind. The angel of Death has visited almost every home circle ; rivers of tears have been shed, and weeping thousands are now crushed into the dust of deep humiliation. The wealthiest men of yes- A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 239 terday, are the [mendicants of to-day ! Our cities have vanished before the consuming conflagration, and desola- tion, distress, and despair, broods lii^e a gloomy pall over our distracted land." The conversation was here interrupted, by observing a small body of Confederate soldiers resting by the way- side. This was no unusual sight, for small bands that had been detained by sickness and other causes, were passing continually, slowly wending their way toward that endear- ing place called home. Graham observed, amongst them, an officer of the rank of Colonel, who immediately attracted his attention. He was wearily reclining against a log, and his face was pale, haggard and careworn; As he advanced, the stranger changed his position, so that his entire features became visible, and Graham sprang forward, and exclaimed : "My old — my long lost friend ! " They now shook hands, and embraced each other with all the fervor peculiar to their generous hearts. " You are pale," said Graham. " I have long been sick — but here is Yenie ! much more happiness than I anticipated." Yenie welcomed the friend of other days : after which they all sat down together, and joined in a quiet conversa- tion. "Where is the 'Belle of the Mountains!'" asked Ed- ward. " I do not know," replied Yenie. " I have been expect- ing her to join me at this place, but I suppose she has con- cluded to remain at 'Chola.'" *'Mr. Eston is dead," said Graham. " When did that occur?" he asked, solemnly. "A short time ago " " Many of our friends are no more," he continued. " Al- most every family can point to a chair, made vacant by this cruel war." 240 THE SUNNY LAND; As they proceeded to the house, Edward Ashton related some of his adventures in South Carolina, before he was taken sick, and then gave some idea of his sufferings, as he made his way to that point without money, amongst an impoverished people who were not able to lend him any assistance. Edward, being fatigued, weary, and worn out, retired early, accompanied by his friend. As soon as they were alone, G-raham said : *' You spoke of having heard from jS'ashville recently." "Yes," replied Edward, " I have late intelligence." '* All our friends are well." "All that are living; some are dead." " Those in the army." " Death has found other victims." " "Who ? " inquired Graham, anxiously. "Jennie Wilson ! " The moment her name was pronounced, Graham threw himself back into a chair, and sorrow marked every linea- ment of his face. " Her last words were of you," continued Edward. " I was not worthy of that pure, noble and affectionate girL She was an angel of devotion, too pure for earth, and has departed to a brighter home, where the shock of war, and the rude blasts of this world, will no more dis- turb her repose." The war-worn soldier, whose heart had been hardened by the misery he had endured, by the horrors of so many battle-fields, now bowed his head in grief, and melted into tears, at the remembrance of the tender, loving, and devoted girl, that had first called forth the affections of his heart. It was to him a sad thought that he would see her face no more forever. A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 241 CHAPTEE XXXII. The Conclusion. Lena Eston did not feel safe at "Chola/' and concluded to leave Patrick Megram in charge of the premises, and to seek some quiet retreat until the storm of invasion had passed away. She wished to follow her cousin, but having no one to accompany her, she proceeded with some ac- quaintances to Greenville. She did not long remain contented at this point. As the closing events of the war followed each other with startling rapidity, she became restless and anxious to hear from her friends. She finally returned to " Caesar's Head ,'' where she decided to continue a few days. Here Lena often met with Confederate soldiers who were endeavoring to^ reach home, and heard from them many conflicting rumors in regard to Edward Ashton. They all agreed that he had been promoted to the grade of Col- onel, but beyond this all was vague and uncertain. Some said he had been wounded ; some thought that he was behind with the sick, and others declared he was then on his way to jSTashville. One day a Confederate officer arrived at " Caesar's Head," and, in the presence of a number of visitors, Lena inquired if he had ever met with Edward Ashton. "Colonel Ashton," he replied ; "I knew him well — he did not live long to enjoy his promotion ; he fell in one of the last engagements of the war." 11 242 THE SUNNY LAND; Lena heard no more, for she sank back unconsciously on the sofa. As soon as she had partially recovered from the first shock, she remembered that curious eyes were upon her, and returned to her own apartment, a prey to the deepest anguish. "We shall not attempt to describe how much she now endured. "Words could never express the depth of her misery. It was the darkest hour of her existence. The last expectation of future happiness had been blighted, and all was dark, dreary, and hopeless. One day when the sun was shining brightly, Lena again visited that promontory of towering rocks known as " Caesar's Head," and sat down alone on the verge of the vast precipice, where she had spent some haj^py hours with one she never expected to meet again. The fairest scenes of nature were spread out before her eyes, bnt these could not charm her troubled spirit. jS'othing could woo her from the melancholy recollections of the past. The grief of years seemed to be concentrated in her desolate heart, and she felt an aching void within, which no other image could ever fill. She wept many bitter tears, and then believed that no joy of earth could ever afford her pleas- ure. An hour passed away. The shades of evening gathered around. The declining sun was casting its last golden rays over the lofty peaks of the surrounding mountains but Lena yet remained seated on the projecting rock like an enthroned statue of sorrow. She had ceased to weep " Tears of bitterness wringing from the breaking heart," but a deep, lasting, and unutterable misery rested on her weary soul. Suddenly mingled voices fell upon her ears. She arose turned around, and her eyes fell on the pale features of Edward Ashton, He stood motionless, gazing into the deep abyss before him, and for a moment seemed to her A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 243 an apparition of the dead. She threw up her arms wildly and half shrieked his name. A moment afterwards Col. Ashton moved towards the astonished Lena, followed by Graham Hardee and Yenie Ardin. The broken circle af- ter so many years of suffering was again complete. It was indeed a happy reunion of kindred spirits. ***** :**# At the close of the following day, Joseph I^ewell sat alone in his piazza, at "Laurel Hill," thinking of the des- olation of the war, when his reflections were interrupted by the appearance of a family carriage. He walked out to meet his visitors, when he was greeted by a familiar voice : " How are jou, uncle Joseph ? " " Graham Hardee, as I live," he exclaimed ; " how you have changed ! " " Miss Ardin," said Graham, as he assisted Yenie to alight. " We have met before," said Mr. [N'ewell, and then con- tinued : "here is Edward Ashton and Miss 'Eston. I am glad to see you — all welcome to 'Laurel Hill.'" The party now entered the house, where they were met by Mrs. Newell, a lady well calculated to make all her visitors feel at home. " How have you fared during the war ? " said Graham to Mr. ISTewell. "Bad enough," he replied, " but better than most of my neighbors. Almost every family in this vicinity mourns the loss of one or more sons, and some of them have been reduced from affluence to penury." " What became of your slaves? " " All gone, except a few that always were a dead ex- pense. If I had the capital returned which was invested in them, I would not be much damaged by their disap- pearance. The Yankees stole enough from me to feed them two or three years, and I hope the colored people will get the benefit of it." 244 THE SUNNY LAND J " How do the freedmen act ? " "Yery well," he replied, "considering, and would do much better if the white trash — Yankee adventurers — and the whole generation of carpet baggers^ could be kept out of the South." " They wish to make political capital out of the Freed- men, and are leading them to destruction." " Yes," replied Mr. Newell ; " these pretended friends of the poor African, are the scum of creation, and if they continue their operations, we will soon have a war of ex- termination. The two races cannot live together, on any terms of equality." On the following morning this party, accompanied by Mr. Newell and his lady, set out for " Chola," where they found Patrick Megram presiding over the premises with all the care, ease and dignity imaginable. He had baffled the Yankees, preserved the remainder of the property, and kept every thing in order during Lena's absence. No one appeared to enjoy this happy re-unioh of long separated friends more than the devoted Irishman. •If i* t* *!* *•* •1* Eeader, you may anticipate the conclusion of our story. Pennie Eaymond, the unhappy bride of a few weeks, re- turned penniless to her Northern home, having learned that beauty without moral rectitude, is worthless. Nell Tucker, finding that she was cheated out of the vengeance she had anticipated, revisited the haunts of vice in the Queen City, where she soon perished miserably within hearing of a political Church. No one there cared for her soul, but they called a meeting of the faithful, and adopted resolutions, pronouncing Hiram Pike a saint in heaven, and declaring that he fell in harness, fighting the battles of the Lord. Marvel Puffaway, having been released from a Southern prison, returned to Cincinnati, thoroughly reformed, as to his inebriate habits. When he first reached home, he A STORY OF THE CRUEL WAR. 245 made a most egregious mistake by stating that the Con- federates had treated himself and his fellow prisoners as well as could have been expected, when their armies were in a starving condition, and insinuated that his own Gov- ernment alone was responsible for their suffering, having re- fused a fair exchange ; but his radical friends soon gave him to understand that such a representation of facts was inad- visable. He saw that he was wrong, and went to work, in order to repair the damage. By consulting a few lying publications, he was enabled to manufacture a horrible story, which soon found its way into the press, and yet makes the blood of the Northern people boil on the eve of every important election. Campbell Fukey also came back to the Queen City, where he may yet be seen skulking along its obscure al- leys, and visiting its lowest dens of vice. He is a degra- ded wretch — hated, despised and shunned by the most abandoned profligates. Annie Linton escaped all the snares of her enemies, and yet resides with her friends in the sunny South, happy and contented, feeling that she did nothing more for her country than duty demanded. Mrs. Duree soon became disgusted with the position of a school marm, and returned to her native State, and re- presented that she had been abused, mistreated, and driv- en from East Tennessee. A people remarkable for their gullibility, yet listen to her marvellous stories in regard to Southern cruelty, but she cannot hide from her admirers that she is a vicious and disappointed woman. The Eev. Obadiah Stanton is yet wandering about with the carpet-baggers in the South, prying into other people's business, associating with dusky companions, and preach- ing political sermons, mingled with all the venom peculiar to his perverted nature. Col. Ashton and Major Hardee remained some time at "Laurel Hill," and frequently visited the cousins at "Chola." 246 THE SUNNY LAND. The thunder of battle had ceased, the lowering clouds of war had rolled away, and they could meet again in the pure sunshine of peace, without the harrowing thought that they must soon part again, perhaps to meet no more on earth. One day an unusual stir occurred at " Chola." Patrick Megram appeared to be the reigning spirit, and all was bustle and confusion throughout that stately mansion. At a later hour invited guests began to arrive and every* thing indicated that something unusual was about to transpii'e. On that day the marriage ceremony was twice repeated on these premises. Graham Hardee had long loved Yenie Ardin, and feeling that she would prove " In pleasure's smiles and sorrow's tear, The same benign, consoling dear," openly confessed his affection, and promised to cherish her until they should be separated by death. Edward Ashton and Lena Eston stood together with overflowing hearts, and vowed that vow never to be broken. When the usual ceremony was over, Edward looked down at his blushing bride and whispered, " My own, my sweet, my beautiful * Belle of the Mountains.' " TO A DEAR COMFORTER. 247 C0 K ^mx €oxaiotji^x. BY B. H. JONES. Musing o'er my gloomy fortune — ThinkiDg of a world so drear — Softly came thy spirit-presence, Sweetly whispering words of cheer. Falling like the April sunshine, Or the rain-drops on the flowers ; !N"erving me to more endurance — Nerving me for trial-hours. In the far and blue empyrean, Ever with expanded wings, Stands a pure and white- winged angel — Universal love he sings. Stands awaiting love's commission, And descending through the air; Ne'er averts his face from mortal, Kneeling in the act of prayer. If the mortal plead for pardon. Nestling closely to his side — Gently whispereth the Evangel, Of the Sinless Crucified : "Faith and Hope, and Love and Patience Mercy flowing as the sea. 248 COL. WM. S. HAWKINS, OF TENNESSEE. Are decreed by the eternal : Firmly standeth the decree! " S(f, to me, there comes a memory. In the hour of my despair : Softly speaking words of comfort, Sweetly whispering, "Learn to bear! " *' In the time of Grod's own choosing, Prison gates shall open wide ; Then I will await His time — Patiently His will abide ! " €ol Millbm S- Mafakhts, ai Cmtttss^^. William Stewart Hawkins was born October 2d, 1837, at Triana, Madison county, Alabama. His father was a native of Maryland, having removed thence to Alabama. He was a man of brilliant literary attainments, de- voted to music and poetry. He died at an early age, when his son was only ten months old, thus devolving upon his widowed mother, the care and training of the future poet. Yery early in life he exhibited proofs of a remarkable talent, and gave promise of those admirable traits of character, and that amiability of temper, which rendered him universally beloved through all the varied scenes of his after life. His collegiate education was received partly at the Uni- versity of Nashville, but was completed at Bethany Col- lege, West Virginia, presided over at the time by the late COL. WM. S. HAWKINS, OF TENNESSEE. 249 lamented, eminent and venerable, Alexander Campbell. Two years of his student life were passed in the Military Department of the Nashville University, at that time under the control of Bushrod Johnson, afterwards a Major General, in the Confederate Army. He was a short time at Lebanon University, enjoying the immediate tuition of his uncle, A. P. Stewart, afterwards a Leiut. G-eneral in the Confederate Army. He graduated in his twenty-first year. In 1861, he entered the cavalry service as a Lieutenant, and in January, 1862, he was advanced to the grade of Major. He participated in the battles of Shiloh, Corinth, Donelson, Larvegne, and Murfreesboro'. In July, 1863, he took charge, as Colonel Commanding, of the Mounted Scouts of Wheeler's Corps, and on January following, was captured by a portion of Gen. Smith's Division of Federal Cavalry, and confined as a Prisoner of War, at Camp Chase, where, for a time, he was on parole as one of the Confed- erate agents at that post. His constant and christian at- tention to the sufferers at the Prison Hospital, greatly en- deared him to his comrades. His affability of temper, gen- erosity, and gallantry of bearing, are particularly noticea- ble in his correspondence with the United States oflacers commanding the Prison. He was gifted with a remarkable fluency of language, which lent a charm to every expression of his thoughts, while a wonderfully retentive memory, a fondness for reading, and habits of astute observation and serious reflection, furnished him materials for composition in all the departments of Literature. His grace of man- ner on all occasions, his elegance of diction, and his en- thusiastic adherance to truth and right, entitled him emi- nently to the appellation of an eloquent speaker. Immediately upon the close of the war, he returned to ISTashville, where he died November 7th, 1865, in the twen- ty ninth year of his age, leaving a bereaved widow, and a little orphaned girl to mourn his irreparable loss. This 250 COL. WM. S. HAWKINS, OF TENNESSEE. sketch would be incomplete without an allusion to the crowning grace of his character, which was an humble faith in the Christian religion, a faith that enabled him to rise superior to the ills of life, and look forward with con- fident anticipation to a participation in the joys and har- monies of Heaven. DEAD. COL. WILLIAM S. HAWKINS. Dead ! with no loving hand to part The soft hair back from the pallid brow. Dead ! and there is no mourning heart To follow the captive now. Gone ! from the prison, lone and drear, With his patient smile and his gentle ways. Gone ! where the jasper walls appear, And the beautiful Gates of Praise. Koses ! that bloom by his home in glee. Where distant odors are sweetly shed ; Let the dew in each delicate chalice be As tribute tears to the dead. And song-birds trill to the throbbing eve, When the shadows are gathering dusk and dim, A music to soothe the souls that grieve, And a low soft dirge to him. Comrades ! who slept beside him there. Where the mountain torrents brawl and roar, Will your dreams to-night by the camp fire's glare. Tell that he comes no more ? Ah ! the morning will shine with her glossy crown. And the cheery and dimpling air for her breath, And you will not know that his sun's gone down In the evening skies of death. Mother ! make room 'mid your memories dear, For one that is sadder and sweeter yet. There's a new-born joy for thee up there, Where the lone knows no regret. The leaves of the autumn fall apace. COL. WM. S. HAWKINS, OF TENNESSEE. 251 The better to feed the blossoms of spring ; So from thy life is shed some grace, A holier grace to bring. Sister 1 'twould wring your soul to know That the cheeks you have kissed are so pale and thin, And the fires gone out from the eye's deep glow, Where such loving glance hath been. But the eyes that seem so glazed and dim, Are bright enough in the courts above, "Where the golden harp of the Seraphim Chime to the touch of love. Maiden ! upon whose heart to-night His tokens of faith are fondly prest ; He waits for thee, 'mid the Isle of Light, In the mansions of the blest. "When the summoning angel in splendor came. And life's star sank in a swift eclipse, He murmured of you, and your tender name Seems yet on his silent lips. Sepulchre ! thou shalt be holy ground. Since to thee such peerless charge is given ; Oh guard it well till the heralds sound The bugle call of Heaven. And Southland ! tho' he fell not on thy field, He still has died for thee and thine ; Make his record then on thy proudest shield, "Where the names of thy truest shine ! 252 FIRST LOVE. Jtrst f ofje. In the blithesome days of boyhood, In the unforgotten past ; Stamped upon my heart's fresh surface, Was an image that shall last, 'Twas a form of girlish beauty — Tresses auburn — eyes of blue ; And a voice so plaintive, dovelike, And a heart so chaste and true. And I loved the little maiden j I, a boy of summers ten, "With such passion, wild and tender, As one never feels again ; And the maiden loved the school-boy, Owned it by her stifled sighs, Trembled 'neath his gaze so ardent. Blushed, and drooped her tell-tale eyes. Many were the little tokens. Passed between the maid and me ; Apples, peaches, blushing berries. Slips of school-boy poetry. Smiles were given — gentle pressures. Mute, yet eloquent of Love ; Silken ringlets neatly braided — Pencillings of heart and dove. Often sat we in the shadow Of the great white sycamore ; And I led her through the meadow, In the halcyon days of yore ; Helped her to the cool and "sparkling Water from the beech-tree spring ; FIRST LOVE. 253 With a thrill of rapture swung her In the rustic grape-vine swing. With my quaint, well sharpened " Barlow," On the beechen's glossy rind, Carved, with studied, labored flourish, Eudely, yet so well defined, That to-day the mountain hunter, Pausing in his search for game, Eeads with ease the rough-edged letters, — The initials of her name. Saw with flashing eyes the advances Of my school-fellow — " John Ed=*= "— Felt 'twould be a pleasant pastime, To relieve him of his head. To our young and ardent fancy Opened up a future bright, When released from laws parental. We our marriage vows should plight. Thus, through many happy summers. Hand in hand we moved along ; Eecking nought of the fierce trials, That to older life belong ; Then we parted — I to ponder Over Academic lore. She was left a tender budlet. Opening on Kanawha's shore. Time sped on ; and I, at manhood. Saw another maiden fair ; Saw, and loved, and wooed, and won her — Wreathed the orange in her hair. She a wife, so fond and gentle, * John Edward Ligon, of Buckingham county, Virginia — a rival. We called him "John Ed." I have been told that he died many years ago. 254 FIRST LOVE. Makes my cup of bliss run o'er ; Never yet hath nobler woman Smoothed the path of man below. And the idol of my boyhood, ]^ow a matron staid and true ; Answers to the name of " Mother^'' Peering into eyes of blue. Years have fled, years five-and-twenty, Since the maiden 'round my way, Cast the sunshine of her presence, That shall linger there for aye! For in hours of prison slumber, Float across my dreaming brain, Visions of the little maiden, As she floated round me then ; Still the same sweet girlish beauty — Tresses auburn — eyes of blue — Still the voice so plaintive — dove-like — Still the heart so chaste and true ! Sylph-like 'round my prison pillow, Glides she as in olden time ; Pass again the little tokens — Written o'er the school-day rhyme. Strange, it is ; yet monthly, weekly, Dream I of those boyhood hours ; Lead again the life I lived then. With the maiden 'mid the flowers ! Such is more than one's experience ; Toiling weary on our way. Sweetest joys, like April sunshine. Brightest gild our morning day j At noontide of our manhood, Backward looking through our tears. HOME AGAIN. 255 Diamond points amid the darkness, Flash the joys of early years . Johnson's Island, Ohio, Jan., 1865. '\omt %cj^xnl LIEUT. HOWARD. Home again ! Home again ! From Lake Erie's shore ; And oh, 'twill fill my soul with joy, To meet my friends once more. A mother kind, a wife, a child. Await with hopes and fears. That glorious hour with rapture wild, When I shall dry their tears. Music sweet, music soft, Lingers 'round the place ; The charm I've felt since childhood oft, No time can e'er efface. I seek not glory, power or wealth, Nor restlessly to roam ; Give me but freedom, peace and health, To share with those at home. Kindly hearts, kindly hearts, With mine in sympathy. Here beat, but yet my home imparts, A deeper thrill to me ! 256 THE PRAYER OP THE SOUTH. From Georgia and Yirginia hear, The shouts of victory come ; Take courage ; e'er another year, "We all shall be at home I Clje ^rag^r d tb .Soixt^. BY REV. ABRAM J. RYAN. My brow is bent beneath a heavy rod ! My face is wan and white with many woes, But I will lift my poor, chained hands to God, And for my children pray, and for my foes. Beside the graves where thousands lowly lie I kneel, and weeping for each slaughtered son, I turn my gaze to my own sunny sky. And pray, oh ! Father, may Thy will be done ! My heart is filled with anguish, deep and vast j My hopes are buried with my children's dust; My joys have fled, my tears are flowing fast — In whom, save Thee, our Father, shall I trust ? Ah ! I forgot Thee, Father, long and oft. When I was happy, rich, and proud, and free ; But conquered now, and crushed, I look aloft. And sorrow leads me. Father, back to Thee ! Amid the wrecks that mark the foeman's path, I kneel, and wailing o'er my glories gone, I still each thought of hate, each throb of wrath, THE PRAYER OF THE SOUTH. 257 And whisper, Father, let Thy will be done ! Pity me, Father of the desolate ! Alas ! my burdens are so hard to bear; Look down in mercy on my wretched fate, And keep me, guard me, with Thy loving care. Pity me Father, for His holy sake. Whose broken heart bled at the feet of grief, That hearts of earth, wherever they shall break, Might go to His, and find a sure relief. Ah, me, how dark! Is this a brief eclipse? Or is it night with no to-morrow's sun ? Oh ! Father ! Father ! with my pale, sad lips, And sadder heart, I pray. Thy will be done. My homes are joyless, and a million mourn Where many met in joys forever flown ; Whose hearts were light, are burdened now and lorn ; Where many smiled, but one is left to mourn. And, ah ! the widow's wails, the orphan's cries, Are morning hymn and vesper chant to me : And groans of men and sounds of women's sighs Commingle, Father, with my prayer to thee. Beneath my feet ten thousand children dead — Oh ! how I loved each known and nameless one; Above their dust I bow my crownless head. And murmur — Father, still Thy will be done, Ah ! Father, Thou didst deck my own loved land With all bright charms, and beautiful and fair; But foemen came, and, with a ruthless hand, Spread ruin, wreck, and desolation there. Girdled with gloom, of all my brightness shorn. And garmented with grief, I kiss Thy rod, And turn my face, with tears all wet and worn, To catch one smile of pity from my God. 258 THE PRATER OP THE SOUTH. Around me blight, where all before was bloom, And so much lost, alas ! and nothing won I Save this — - that I can lean on wreck and tomb, And weep, and weeping pray, Thy will be done. And oh ! 'tis hard to say, but said, 'tis sweet ; The words are bitter, but they hold a balm — A balm that heals the wounds of my defeat, And lulls my sorrows into holy calm. It is the prayer of prayers, and how it brings. When heard in Heaven, peace and hope to me ! When Jesus prayed it, did not angels' wings Gleam 'mid the darkness of Gethsemane ? My children. Father, Thy forgiveness need ; Alas ! their hearts have only place for tears ! Forgive them, Father, ev'ry wrongful deed And ev'ry sin of those four bloody years, And give them strength to bear their boundless loss, And from their hearts take every thought of hate ; And while they climb their Calvary with their Cross, Oh ! help them, Father, to endure its weight. And for my dead, my Father, may I pray ? Ah ! sighs may soothe, but prayer shall soothe me more ! I keep eternal watch above their clay ; Oh ! rest their souls, my Father, I implore ! Forgive my foes — they know not what they do — Forgive them all the tears they made me shed ; Forgive them, though my noblest sons they slew. And bless them, though they curse my poor, dear dead. Oh ! may my woes be each a carrier-dove, With swift, white wings, that, bathing in my tears. Will bear thee, Father, all my prayers of love. And bring me peace in all my doubts and fears. Father, I kneel, 'mid ruin, wreck and grave — LEE TO THE REAR. 259 A desert waste, where all was erst so fair — And for my children and my foes I crave Pity and pardon — Father, hear my prayer ! n ia ih %mx. JOHN R. THOMPSON. Dawn of a pleasant morning in May, Broke through the Wilderness, cool and gray, While, perched in the tallest tree-tops, the birds Were carolling Mendelssohn's " Songs without words." Far, from the haunts of men remote. The brook brawled on with a liquid note, And nature, all tranquil and lovely, wore The smile of spring, as in Eden, of yore. Little by little, as daylight increased. And deepened the roseate flush in the East — Little by little, did morning reveal Two long, glittering lines of steel ! Where two hundred thousand bayonets gleam, Tij^ped with the light of the earliest beam, And the faces are sullen and grim to see, In the hostile armies of Grant and Lee. All of a sudden, ere rose the sun. Pealed on the silence, the opening gun — A little white puif of smoke there came. And anon the valley was wreathed in flame. 260 LEE TO THE REAR. Down on the left of the rebel lines, "Where a breastwork stands in a copse of pines, Before the rebels their ranks can form, The Yankees have carried the place by storm. Stars and Stripes o'er the salierrt wave, "Where many a hero has found a grave, And the gallant Confederates strive in vain The ground they have drenched with their blood to regain! Yet louder the thunder of battle roared — Yet a deadlier fire on their columns poured — Slaughter, infernal, rode with despair, Furies twain, through the smoky air. Not far off, in the saddle there sat, A grey -bearded man, with black slouch hat ; IS'ot much moved by the fire was he, Calm and resolute Eobert Lee. Quick and watchful, he kept his eye On two bold rebel brigades close by — Reserves, that were standing (and dying) at ease. Where the tempest of wrath toppled over the trees. For still with their loud, bull-dog bay. The Yankee batteries blazed away, And with every murderous second that sped A dozen brave fellows, alas ! fell dead. The grand old beard rode to the space, "Where Death and his victims stood face to face. And silently waves his old slouch hat — A world of meaning there was in that ! " Follow me ! Steady ! "We'll save the day ! " This was what he seemed to say ; And to the light of his glorious eye The bold brigades thus made reply : LEE TO THE REAR. 261 " We'll go forward, but you must go back ^' — And they moved not an inch in the perilous track , " Go to the rear, and we'll give them a rout, Then the sound of the battle was lost in their shout. Turning his bridle, Eobert Leo Eode to the rear. Like the waves of the sea. Bursting the dykes in their overflow. Madly his veterans dashed on the foe ; And backward in terror that foe was driven, Their banners rent and their columns riven, Wherever the tide of battle rolled, Over the Wilderness, wood and wold. Sunset, out of a crimson sky, Streamed o'er a field of a ruddier dye, And the brook ran on with a purple stain. From the blood of ten thousand foemen slain. Seasons have passed since that day and year, Again o'er the pebbles the brook runs clear. And the field in a richer green is drest Where the dead of the terrible conflict rest. Hushed is the roll of the rebel drum. The sabres are sheathed, and the cannon are dumb ; And Fate, with pitiless hand has furled The flag that once challenged the gaze of the world. But the fame of the Wilderness fight abides, And down into the history grandly rides, Calm and unmoved, as in battle he sat, The grey-bearded man, in the black slouch hat. 262 LIEUT. E. C. m'CARTHY, of LOUISIANA. Lieutenant E. C. McCarthy was born of respectable parentage, in Limerick, Ireland, December 20th, 1840. His father was the proprietor and editor of the Limerick and Clare Examiner^ and actively espoused the threatened Irish rebellion of 1848. He was on intimate terms with Smith O'Brien, Thomas F. Meagher, and John Mitchell. With the failure of the contemplated rebellion, the Lim- erick and Clare Examiner went down, and in December, 1851, the elder McCarthy sought an asylum in the United States, and died at ]^ew Orleans in October, 1852. Prior to the war, young McCarthy resided in Algiers, Louisiana, and was employed as an Express Agent. At the breaking out of the war, he attached himself to Co. A, 30th regiment, Louisiana Yolunteers. He was soon pro- moted to the rank of Lieutenant, and participated in the battles of Baton Eouge, Jackson, Miss., Xew Hope Church, those of the Atlanta campaign, under Gen. Jos. E. John- ston, and those of Jonesboro', Franklin and Nashville, and on the second day of the last named fight, December 16th, 1864, was captured and sent to Johnson's Island, where he remained until June 21s!t, 1865, Avhen he was released. He is now Agent for the Texas Express Company, and his location is Galveston. Mr. McCarthy is a gentleman of fine personal appear- ance and pleasing address. Liberally endowed with that quick and brilliant wit peculiar to his countrymen, and of a genial disposition, he was a general favorite among the prisoners confined at Johnson's Island. THE FOUR BROTHERS. • 263 ^\^t J'ouT §r,otIjers. [Among the first to respond to the call of Beauregard in the spring of 1861, were the four brothers, Le Blanc, of St. Martinsville, Attakapas. One fell at "Shiloh," another died just after the arrival of the ''Orleans Guard Batallion " at Camp Moore, May, 1862. A third, to whom the following lines refer, died at the same place in Juue, 1862, and the last, Edmond, after seeing his three dear brothers buried, far from their homes, returned to Attakapas on sick furlough, and died of disease contracted in the army, several weeks after the following verses were written.] In sadness, in sorrow, a soldier wept, O'er the form so cold and chill ; And the struggling sigh, the gasp for breath, The glazing eye, the fight with death, Grew fainter and fainter still. " Oh, my brother," the dying soldier said, " You were always mother's pride ; Eemember her now; " and he paler grew ; " But remember the South, our country, too ; God protect you ! " and he died. Then with measured step and the muffled drum, "We marched to the sacred ground ; And we laid the youth who was once our pride, In the soft, green turf, by his brother's side, Till the final trump shall sound. And sad and alone in his canvas tent. One mourns for the buried three ; Who came at their country's rallying cry. To struggle, to sufi'er, perchance to die, For the South — for liberty ! 264 • THE DYING CHRISTIAN WARRIOR. Clje 5sing C^rbtiait Wimxox. BY JAMES R. BREWER. " Let us cross over the river and rest in the shade of the trees." There was silence that night. The sentry was mute ; And the camp was disturbed with a sigh ; There was music above of the minstrel and lute, And a rustling of wings in the sky ; For the soul of the mighty was bidding adieu To earth, ere it rose on the breeze, Preparing to cross the great Eiver of Life, To rest in the shade of its trees. " Behold how He loved him ! " the glad seraph sang; " Behold hoW they loved him ! " was felt in the pang That pierced the brave hearts that had followed him here, Now heard in a sob, and now seen in a tear. " Let us cross o'er the river ! '^ He smiled as he spoke, " And rest 'neath the shade of the trees," And the eternal hills their slumber awoke. With the cherubim's anthem of peace. But the watcher bowed low as he caught the soft breath, And wept as the pulses grew still ; And proud of their mission, the angels of death Performed the Omniscient will. " He is gone," sighed the mourner, " our pleadings were vain ; " " He has come," sang the angels, " he's free from all pain," And the Eiver of Life its dark surgings depressed. Till they bore him beneath its ripe branches to rest. He has crossed the dark river, he rests in the shade ; 'Twas ordained by Jehovah's decree; JOHNSON'S ISLAND. 265 Then, sinner, beware, for the mighty must fade, And a span 's but allotted to thee. But Christian, look up, for there 's hope in the sky, An example of faith and reward. There 's a lesson to all that the righteous must die, And the wicked must meet the same Lord ! Then teach us, dear Father, our vices to shun ; So teach us to worship, that when life is done. We may cross the broad river. Thy mandates appease. And rest in your shade — immortality's trees ! Baltimore, Oct. 4th, 1865. ^ol^mon^ f slattir. BY LIEUTENANT E. A. HOLMES, OF VIRGINIA. Oh, who has not heard of that isle in Lake Erie, So guarded to-day — so unheeded before, Where the truthful and brave stroll, all listless and weary, Their hearts far away from it's wave-sounding shore ? The sun rises red o'er thy waters. Lake Erie, And gladdens the day with it's rich golden hue : Oh, who will e'er tell of the thoughts sad and weary, Now curtaining with sadness the souls of the true ! Where cannon boomed loud 'mid the storm of the battle. And riders lay breathless, their horses all foam — Those hearts never quailed 'mid the musketry's rattle ; Now they melt at the thought of dear faces at home. 12 266 MY PRISON DREAR. The bugle call wakes, with it's "reveille" token, From niorht's fitful slumbers those heroes so true ; From sweet dreams of " Dixie," unconquered, unbroken ^ To muse and to sigh 'till the welcome " tattoo." Oh, who would have thought, tho' a Prophet had told us, A few years ago, that such things would e'er be? — That strangers might come and in prison behold us. Confined in a land that yet claims to be free ? The storm-blasts of winter sweep over Lake Erie : In silence we bear our lost comrades to rest ; No more will they stroll with the listless and weary, They sleep their last sleep in this isle of the West. BY LIEUTENANT D. T. WALKER, OF MISSISSIPPI. Alas ! how slow the moments go, As fettered on this friendless Isle ; Day after day, Time wears away, While failing Hope forgets to smile. No change of scene to soothe one's spleen, The "blues" lay hold upon me ; And like a bog-exhalant fog, This murky cloud of thick en7iui. Twelve months to-day, have passed away, A full grown age it seems the while ; MY PRISON DREAR. 267 Since Fortune's wheel forsook my weal, And made my lot this jH-ison vile. Obscure, unfriended, I'm unattended With comforts — have just none at all; Ilave naught to eat, save bread and meat, That bad, and miserably small. The coat I wear, is now threadbare : My pants are torn, and full of holes; My shoes unglossed, their strings have lost, And soon, alas ! will lose their soles. Ky old felt hat — my faithful hat. We soon our ties of love must sever, That bullet-rent, so fiercely sent. Has marred your style and shape forever. Life's tenure slim, slouched hangs your brim, You've braved all sorts of stormy weather ; Alas ! for you, you've proved too true, We twain are prisoners still together. In such sad plight, I spend each night, The weary hours my soul benumbing. Though far away I try each day, To see those better times a coming. Dear native land! heroic stand, Though with blood thy fields are streaming, God grant to give thee strength to live, I see thy day-star brightly beaming ! Come life or death, my latest breath, I pledge my life — my all to thee ; In God our trust, if fail we must. We yet can die and thus be free ! 268 EIGHT YEARS AGO. 6igbt gears §.30. A PRISON LAY. BY W. E. PENN, OF TENNESSEE. Just eight years ago, I remember the day, When all was so happy, so joyous and gay ; I stood near the edge of a soft-flowing stream, 'Twas stranger than fiction, and seemed as a dream. And near where I stood was a beautiful bower, And in its cool shade was a delicate flower ; As it stood there alone, so lovely, so sweet, I gently approached it, and knelt at its feet. I there made a vow to protect and defend That delicate flower till existence should end ; And then, by consent of the goddess of flowers, I plucked it away from beneath its loved bowers. Then on the bright bosom of that limpid stream I floated as soft as a midsummer's dream ; And as still I moved onward adown the smooth tide, I kept that fair flower ever close by my side. I felt, oh, so happy ! so gladsome and free ! As boundless my joy as the wide-flowing sea ; Twas pleasure, 'twas rapture, as thus we sailed on ; Bidding sorrow and trouble forever begone ! • But while thus gliding on, and with prospects so bright. My barque — ah ! 'twas wrecked in the darkness of night, And to-day all alone, in my dark prison cell, I muse on the joys that have whispered " Farewell ! " But hope ! sweetest hope ! still she whispers to me : "All — all is not darkness, you yet shall be free. A prisoner's fancy. 269 And again on the stream you in safety shall glide, With your own precious flower close, close by your side." Ah! then I'll be haj^py and gladsome once more, When freed from captivity, carnage and gore ; I'll rest, sweetly rest, as still onward I move, With my spring flower beside me — my angel of love ! Then grant, gracious Father, the boon that I ask. In the light of Thy goodness, yet wearing its mask ; When the day-star of life shall at last fade away. Let the flower still be mine, with its love of to-day. % "^momfn i\mts* BY COLONEL W. S. HAWKINS. Though I rest within a Prison, and long miles between us be. Past the guards and through the distance, sweet my soul goes out to thee ? , Seeks thy presence at the dawning and the tender twi- light hour, Through the light and through the shadow — in the sunshine and the shower. Whether in my narrow cot, or pacing sadly in my cell. With a slow and measured footstep, like my watching sentinel, My spirit ever flieth on its wings of hope and light. And with yearnings wild and eager, it seeks thee, love, to-nio-ht. O 270 A prisoner's fancy. Thus again I sit and clasp thee, and thy head leans on my breast, The dear accustomed place where it of old was wont to rest ; And I feel thy heart's true throbbing, as I press it close to mine, And drink the love-light of thine eyes, where such ten- der fancies shine. On the veined lids that shadow those deep and loving eyes, Pressing kisses pure and holy, in whose warmth the ar- dor lies : "We felt in by-gone hours when as lovers fond and young, We walked and seemed to listen to the songs in Eden sung. When by us, gently sighing, went the freighted evening breeze, Or whispered blessings o'er us to the thick and bending trees, "Where we paused, and in the stillness, with our love each other crowned, And thoa wert dearer then, as now, than aught in earth's wide round. 'Twas thus I pledged to Heaven, that naught us twain could ever part — And my choicest garlands crowned you as the Queen of all my heart — That we would go together through the shocks and storms of Life, I — to be the faithful Husband, and you the tender Wife. Then my spirit flieth southward, to the little lonely grave. That holds the dearest treasure, e'er to mother earth we gave — A prisoner's fancy. 271 O coming spring ! with flowers crown my Darling's quiet tomb, And for my sake breathe over her, your daintiest per- fume. Yet still I catch the music of her sweet and childisK voice — That voice now swells the chorus where the Seraphim's rejoice. Yet its lingering tones are with me, and they lead and lure me on — To where some day I'll find her beside the Great White Throne. And I visit then my mother, kneeling low in fervent prayer, The prayer that every day goes up for me to Heaven there ; And I see my little brother in his innocent repose — God spare him all the sorrow that my weary spirit knows. As the evening shadows gather, may he be her pride and joy, For we love him, ah ! so truly, our gentle brother boy — And to her I cling in fondness, like a tendril to the vine, And ask all blessings round her path, that Mother dear, of mine. Now past the height and river, by the uplands and the plain, I am coming dear one, coming, for I seek my home again, And I find you sleeping calmly, with my babe upon your breast, And fondly all my love upon the lips of both is pressed. You smile as in your dreaming, I whisper soft and low. And sigh — and sigh so sadly — for I am loth to go ; 272 GIVE UP. But the captive's weary body will need his weary soul, To be back and answer for him at the calling of the roll. Back to hours of sadness, and dreariness forlorn, "Where the stars are gone from night, and the glories from the morn — Where Captivity is breathing her poison every where, And the grave-yard's mouth is yawning, to claim its gloomy share. O Death in Life ! O Life in Death ! the victories thou hast won ! The pale-faced captive's free at last, in the land beyond the sun. Dear God, to Thee I look through tears, Oh aid and strengthen me, Till I and all my Brothers, in that happy land are free. The following lines, written at Johnson's Island, Ohio, in the winter of 1865, were occasioned by a Confederate officer's remark : ^^That the South had best give up the struggle^ as she stood no chance.'^ 6xk %. GOL. B. H. JONES. Give up and then plead, 'twas the fiat of fate. That the blood which now reddens your veins. Should curdle and creep and clog neath the weight And corrosion of tyranny's chains ! GIVE UP. 273 Give up ! from your home to be driven away ; The home where your mother hath prayed; The home of your wife and your children to-day, The home where in boyhood you played ! Give up ! that a fugitive over the earth, You may wander like brow-marked Cain ; With curses invoked on the day of your birth ; With prayers for the death-stroke in vain ! Give up ! and become the mean slave of your serf; A bond-man to your bond-man made ! And rattle your chains o'er the hallowed turf, Where the bones of your dead ones are laid [ Give up ! that the bigoted Puritan race, May point the slow finger of scorn, And hiss, as it were to your children's disgrace : " See ! the young of a rebel horn ! " Give up! to be scouted and disfranchised; Have all rights whatsoever denied ; To be scoffed at, spit on, snubbed and despised By those you have ever defied! Give up ! that your daughter, so tender and fair ; And your wife, so fond and so true ; May be stormed at, while lolls in her soft cushioned chair. Their mistress — a Puritan shrew ! Give up ! that your State may be struck from the roll, Where long she in glory hath shone ; And taxmen, exacting of tithe and of toll. May reap where they never have sown ! Give up ! that the acres you now call your own, May be portioned 'twixt Northman and slave ; 12* 274 aivE UP. And that 'shamed to have sired so dastard a son, Your father may turn in his grave ! Give up ! and then feel that your manhood is gone ; Tour pride, once high, now humbled and tame; To your children, instead of Liberty won, Transmit a vile burthen of shame ! Give up ! of their husbands and brothers bereft, Bending in grief yet nerved by despair ; Our women, so long as one only is left, The wrath of the Xorthman shall dare ! Give up ! JS^ot while remaineth to one poor child, Strength to mould to bullets our lead; Till our fruitful land is a desert wild, And the last of our race is dead ! Give up ! Xot till the last true Southron shall fall In the face of the Northman's advance ; On the soil of the South shall not crouch a thrall, To quail at the conqueror's glance ! Give up ! No, never ! Eather welcome the whole Of the curses and scourges of Heaven ; While above us the waves of the ocean roll, By the wrath of Jehovah driven ! Give up ! Ah ! Trust not their promises rare, Of ]\Iercy — their Friendship — their Love! Such mercy the eagle extends to the hare. Such love, hath the hawk for the dove ! "No chance! " There is always a chance for the brave, TTho valiantly stand to the fight ; And triumph shall light e'en the gloom of the grave, For the hero that dies for the Right ! Johnson's Island, January/ 8t7i, 1865. ARTHUR MURRAY, OUR LITTLE HERO. 275 OB THE DRUMMER-BOY OF THE RAPPAHANNOCK. BY CAPT. A. J. PEELER, OF FLORIDA. CHAPTEE I. It was four o'clock, on the morning of December 11th, 1862. Snow lay upon the ground, to the depth of several inches. The waning moon, veiled by flying mists, fitfully threw its pale beams upon the wintry shroud in which nature was now enrobed^, giving to our camp a semi-sad and strangely romantic appearance. Being without tents to shelter us from the pitiless blasts of winter, that swept in spiteful fury over the arable lands and bleak hill-tops in the vicinity of Fredericksburg, we had nestled us down, some two miles distant, in a cosy scooped out sort of place on the side of a steep and rugged hill, crowned with cedar and covered with forest trees of various kinds. These, with their bare leafless heads and outstretched branches, as skeleton arms in drapery of white, looked like so many weird and spectral sentinels keeping night vigil in a silent church-yard, over the tombs of the dead, and seemed in ghostly etiquette, constantly and solemnly bowing to each other as they were swayed to and fro by the wild wind, in whose moan, a fancied mysterious converse was held with invisible spirits, per- chance of loved ones from far-off homes, who had come to commune with those of the dreaming, sleeping soldiers reposing beneath them. The chattering teeth and half-suppressed moan of some wretchedly clad sentry, with sore and chill-blained feet, protected only by strips of blankets or rags, and whose every joint shivered with paroxysms of cold, could be 276 ARTHUR MURRAY, OUR LITTLE HERO. heard, as like an anguished shadow, along his snow path, alone, he walked his weary beat. But his aches and pains were soon to end. He cast his eyes longingly towards the guard tent. Bright sparks from the watch-fire suddenly flew, crackling upwards. Thebrands were stirred from their ashy beds, and the blaze kindled, by which the Corporal was to call over the names of the "second," and long- looked-for, relief. As he passed around the fire, arousing the dusky forms, his dimly reflected shadow, Hke a huge supernatural giant, followed him with corresponding move- ment on the snow. One by one, the sleepers arose, yawned, rubbed their drowsy eyes, buckled on their cartridge boxes, and " fell in." The command " March," was given ; then followed the slow, dull tramp of approaching foot-steps. Thank God ! he was about to go off duty — a duty of almost un- endurable suffering. Hark! Two signal guns from an eminence near by peal forth, breaking the stillness of the night, and sharply piercing the ear of the sleeping host. Long ere the echo had ceased to reverberate from hill-top to hill-top, or mutteringly respond from deep wood and wind- ing valley, it was taken up and followed by the rattling din of a thousand drums, sounding the " long roll," min- gled with the blast of Artillery bugles, the harsh clangor of hoofs, and the heavy rumbling of wheels. Behold the change! A change as sudden, if not as miraculous, as the transformation of the dry, flinty, mar- rowless bones of the valley, into living, moving flesh and blood ! The mighty army of Lee, but a moment ago in such deep unconscious slumber, is in arms with the war harness on, panoplied for the work of death. The cry of "fall in, fall in," rings in every direction throughout the camp. Accoutrements are quickly adjust- ed, blankets folded, canteens and haversacks supplied, and one brigade moving, at a " double quick," towards Fred- ericksburg. ARTHUR MURRAY, OUR LITTLE HERO. 277 The battle has begun. At every step, we can hear the sharp, brisk fire of musketry, and the booming of ar- tillery. Our troops in the city are stubbornly resisting the enemy in their repeated efforts, under cover of dark- ness, to construct their pontoon bridges. Eeaching the X^osition assigned us, we are formed in line of battle, a short distance from the city, our "right" resting on the plank road leading out to Orange Court House. Soon, red-tinged rays of light, ominous of the coming slaughter, herald the approach of morn. They shoot up athwart the grey, cold sky, from over the amphitheatre of hills toward the classic Potomac. The snow-capped crests of the Staftbrd heights, on the east side of the equally classic Eappahannock, are reflected in glistening outline. Be- hind these, are marshalled the hosts of Burnside, for the first battle of Fredericksburg. On the west side, behind the famous Spottsylvania heights, like the crouched pan- ther, ready to spring upon its prey, lie the hosts of Lee, to meet him in deadly conflict when he shall effect a cross- ing. jS'otwithstanding the danger of the impending attack upon the city, many families remained, having nowhere else to shelter themselves. Those who desired to make their escape during the day, were enabled to do so, the enemy's batteries being so posted, as to command and sweep with grape shot, every street and alley in the city. At 1 P. M., a concentrated fire of solid and hot shot, and shell from an hundred smoking, belching throats of iron frowning down from the Stafford heights, Avas poured into the city, for the purpose of its destruction. It was, con- sequently, soon enveloped in angry, roaring flames, which, leaping with almost lightning sj^eed from house-top to steeple, licked out their red-forked tongues, high in the dense clouds of black smoke, that hung like a huge pall on the sad scene of destruction. Indeed, it was a sad 278 ARTHUR MURRAY, OUR LITTLE HERO. sight, as the fairest portion of one of the proud " Old Dominion's " most ancient cities, where Washington spent the days of his boj'hood, and the bones of his mother rested, was being kxid in ashes. On every side, flying in every direction, were buzzing, jagged fragments of tin and slate roofing, brick, mortar, and splintered boards, sundered, torn and scattered by the crash of solid shot and the ter- rific explosion of shell. During all this time, poor helpless women and children, crouched and crowded in dark, cold cellars, were expect- ing every moment to be consumed in the conflagration, buried under the ponderous masses of masonry and tim- ber that were toppling and tumbling down over their heads at each thundering discharge of artillery, or frightfully mangled by a seething, hissing shell bursting in their midst. Children, unused to such novel and terrible sights, and harsh, deafening sounds, clung to their mother's skirts, uttering heart piercing screams, mingled with frantic pleadings to be taken away. Tender little babes, conscious of the presence of some dread calamity, though they knew not what, timidly nestled themselves for protection in the heaving, anguished bosoms of their mothers, who, with wild sobs, were imploring God to shield under his wing them- selves and little ones, from the raging storm of destruc- tion and death. For more than twelve long, long hours, they remained in this inconceivably wretched situation. What pen is adequate to the task of describing their agonies ? None ! As the shades of night began to mantle the city, smoking in its ruins, they hurried out from their hiding places and began to leave. The city was now being rapidly occupied by the Federal troops, who, completing their pontoon bridges, had crossed over, their presence adding greatly to the fears of the flying citizens. Their only route of egress was along the plank road, upon which, as before stated, rested the right of our brigade. ARTUUR MURRAY, OUR LITTLE HERO. 279 To this portion of the line, I belonged. Here, I witnessed scenes that I can never forget. My memory can bring in view, no picture of such utter distress. TVagons, carts, and vehicles of every descrij)tion, were jammed together, wheel-locked, and rendering the road impassable every few paces. These pressed in by some of the more fortunate, as conveyances for their necessary baggage, were constant- ly upsetting and emptying their contents on the ground, addiug to the obstructions in the way. The greater portion of these poor outcasts and refugees, as they were now made by the misfortunes of war, from the danger of even a moment's delay in their hasty depar- ture, had not brought with them a single article of bedding, or even a change of clothing. Those who have lived in comfortable and quiet homes, during this fierce revolution, and witnessed none of its horrors at their own doors, can form no idea of the truly deplorable condition of these unfortunates, driven from beneath their own roofs. Think of it! At night — in darkness, houseless, homeless, — on a public highway, in the midst of a panic stricken wildly rushing throng, going, they knew not where — to stop — they knew not when — pierced through with cutting winds, were found weeping, wailing, distracted mothers with lit- tle children, whose tender little hands and feet were pur- ple with biting cold, piteously crying. True is it " that the vices of another age shock and as- tonish us, while those of our own day and time excite but little horror." In this inextricable entanglement, this interwoven, mov- ing, surging mass of misery, where even old men whose long silvery locks — if possible, made more white by the falling snow — leaning for support upon their staffs, moved with decrepit limps; where all seemed powerless, none able to help another, my attention was attracted to a little boy driving his cow and calf, his words of command, familiar no doubt to them, rising like a voice above the war's wild 280 ARTHUR MURRAY, OUR LITTLE HERO. wreck and storm, over the confusion and noise around him. They were frequently separated by persons and con- veyances passing between them, and it was with great difficulty he could prevent their being lost; but he perse- vered, and on they come with the rest of the moving mass, the old cow lowing in a melancholy tone, and the little calf trotting along by her side with responsive cry. In my next chapter I shall introduce you to this little boy as the hero of my story. CHAPTEE II. On the east side of the canal, running from the falls at Palmouth to Fredericksburg, and equi-distant between these places, stood a small, but very neat and comfortable cottage. It was once a very happy home. Its inmates, though humble in fortune, communed in pure and unstained joy around its cheerful fireside. One of them — the strong one — was now gone. His footstejDS had not been heard uj)on its threshhold for more than a year. His vacant chair seemed to invite his return, but it remained vacant still, and its dark shadow rested on the hearth-stone near which it sat. At the date of our story it was the home of a gentle, pale-faced woman, in the weeds of widowhood. Though taste, and even elegance, was everywhere displayed around it, still it had that sad and forsaken sort of look which belongs to the home of the widow. The beautiful tessel- ated patterns which formed the ground-work of the front yard, and which in spring-time were decked with choice shrubbery and fragrant flowers, now in their garments of snow, only added to the loveliness of its appearance. Yes, the strong arm was gone, but the widow was not ARTHUR MURRAY, OUR LITTLE HERO, 281 all alone. There was one left her still, to speak kind words, to comfort and render less poignant the deep sorrow of her bereavement. One, now nearest her heart, since he, whose image he bore, could never come back to her again. It was little Arthur Murray, the son and only child of the widowed mother. He was now in his tenth year, and possessed an unusually noble and manly spirit for one so young, as we think the sequel of our story will show. His father had been the superintendent of one of the sev- eral cotton and cloth factories on the Canal. Sober and industrious in his habits, he was held in high esteem by his employer and neighbors. By close attention to business he had managed, as the result of his honest earnings, not only to support in more than ordinary comfort his family, but had purchased the home we have described. He had also laid up enough money, as he said, to give little Arthur the advantages of an education. His great object seemed to be, to make his only son, on whom was centered all a father's love, a good and useful man. But Arthur was soon to be deprived of a father's care and counsel. When the tocsin first sounded, he was among the fore- most to buckle on his armor and take his place in the ranks. A man of sterling worth and unflinching patriot- ism, he had no respect for those who could prate by the week at home, but were unwilling to risk their lives upon the field, in their country's hour of trial and danger. He did not flee the coming storm ; he stood firm to breast it. Scarcely had the warm, fond kiss dried upon loved lips, as he pressed to his bosoni in parting, his wife and darling boy, or the echo of his last foot-fall died away, when he fell in the red front of battle. On the memorable field of the first Manassas he yielded up his life. There, in a common grave, in a wide trench filled with heaps of unknown dead, Avith nought to distinguish the particular spot, sleep the last remains of a brave man, true patriot, devoted husband, 282 ARTHUR MURRAY, OUR LITTLE HERO. and affectionate father. Other husbands and fathers sleep there also — yes, many of them — and other widows and orphans will never forget that battle plain. But some day, we are told — and what a terrible day it will be — they will all rise from that mouldering heap — that trench, covered perhaps with the turf of centuries, and a just God before the assembled nations of the world, will hurl into eternal banishment from His presence to meet their reward, those who, ignoring the teachings of Christianity, the precepts of the meek and holy Jesus, who said, "blessed are the peace-makers," have not raised their hands to stay the work of fiendish slaughter ! The telegraph wires flashed, the startling news that the first great battle had been fought. For several days the most painful suspense ensued. Reports were confused, tardy in coming, contained but few particulars, and there, as has proved the case in every subsequent battle, of a very unsatisfactory character. A victory had been gained, but what was its price ? Who had given a husband, a son, or a brother for it ? Crowds gathered around the bulletin boards, telegraph, and post-offices. All, with countenances depicting the deepest anxiety, were seeking to learn the fate of relatives and friends. First at all these places was little Arthur. On the ar- rival of each mail, squeezing and edging his slender form through the mass of grown-up men, he would stand close up under the " delivery " with throbbing heart, as soon as opened, to inquire for a letter — "a letter from father." When told there was none, he would turn sorrowfully away to retrace his steps homeward, with heavy heart. Brushing away the tears that stood in his bright blue eyes, to look as cheerful as possible, he would hasten back to comfort his mother, who would be looking for him. Sure enough, he would find her at the gate awaiting his return. Though hurried his pace, there was something in his look that would tell her he was not yet the happy ARTHUR MURRAY, OUR LITTLE HERO. 283 bearer of the precious letter. As he would place his arms affectionately around his mother's neck and imprint a kiss upon her pale cheek, Arthur knew, from her red and swollen eyes, that she had been weeping during his absence. Af- fecting to conceal his own emotions, which almost choked him, with stout heart he would bid her be of good cheer, that all was well ; " that the letter from father would cer- tainly come to-morrow — he knew it would ; he would be at the office early, and when he got it, he would run every step of the way home to bring it to her." The morrow came — the mail came. But did the letter come ? It was the fourth day since the close of the battle. Arthur, more anxious than ever, was the first to ask for a letter. Again there was none for him. " Mother will be so disappointed; why don't father write?" he would ex- claim, in bitter grief, little dreaming that the hand that was expected to pen the anxiously looked-for letter was pulseless and cold. He turned off more sad than before. It was such a crushing defeat of his hopes. This time he confidently expected to carry relief to his mother's heart — to place the letter in her hand — to hear her read what father had written, and to receive the kiss and message which he would certainly send home — it would be the last thing at the bottom.of the page — how happy he would be. Passing near a group of men, where a late Eichmond paper was being read, he heard the names of some of his father's friends from the city. It contained the list of the casualties in the — Virginia Eegiment. He crept in among them, listening with intense interest to catch every word. It was his father's regiment, and as the letter of his company was reached, his lips began to quiver, his heart to beat with quickened throb ; he shuddered with strange feelings — the curtain was about to be withdrawn — the fresh young heart was about to be smitten with its first grief. We withdraw the curtain : " Company G, killed — Charles Murray." 284 ARTHUR MURRAY, OUR LITTLE HERO. Like clods upon a coffin-lid these words fell upon his ear. He heard nothing else. Falling down upon the side-walkj he buried his face, already wet with hot, gushing tears, in his cap — his little military cap, that mother had made for him, that he might look like his father — father, who was dead. Poor little fellow! The sad truth burst upon him — he knew now why he had gone back so often disappointed from the office. A thunderbolt had pierced his very soul. It came swift ; it came sudden ! Why had he not thought before that father was killed ? No ! he could not believe it then — could he believe it now f Yes. " Mother is a widow, I am an orphan, and we are alone in the world," he muttered to himself. His grief was quenchless ; he cried aloud as if his boyish heart would break. Several of the passers-by, who were attracted by his grief, on learning the cause, were kind enough to express pity for the " poor little orphan," as they called him. There he remained until a friend and former employee with his father coming up, recognized him. Taking him by the hand, he endeavored to quiet his grief, and kindly offered to accompany him home. Arthur frequently stopped on the way, and with tears gushing out afresh, would cry out, " Oh, how can I go home and tell mpther that father is dead — that the letter now will never come f " But it was unnecessary for him to tell mother — she saw him coming — heard his sobs — knew all — a dark moun- tain of fate loomed up before her — its black, pall-like shadow stole upon her vision — she grew deathly sick — she was faint — she was falling — the couch in her cham- ber whirled from her as she made an effort to gain it — the floor received her senseless form, which fell heavily upon it, as a dead Aveight. Arthur threw himself in her arms — neither could speak — thus lay the newly-made widow and orphan. Look at this picture and say, whether war's greatest ARTHUR MURRAY, OUR LITTLE HERO. 285 horror is the ensanguined field. But it is not our purpose to moralize. Mrs. Murray, who was always of delicate constitution, rapidly declined under this terrible affliction — this shattering blow to her heart. While unable to leave her bed for some three months, Arthur was her constant companion, day and night, watching over her with the ut- most tenderness, and anticipating every want. He would al- low no one else to do anything for her, which his own ever willing little hand could do. Through the affectionate attention and devotion of this noble boy, his mother was partially restored to health. To him she was indebted for her life — a life she only cared to preserve on his account. Without her '* dear Arthur,' she would wish to have died when the intelligence of her husband's death first reached her. He was now the only tie that bound her to earth — he was all to live for. Arthur seemed at once to appreciate the doubly-near relation he occupied toward his mother, since his father's death. He was both son and protector, and cheerfully he set to work to provide for her support and aid her in all the domestic labors. These, with their difficulties to one so young, sometimes almost entirely devolved upon him, on account of her illness. Eut he managed remarkablj^ well. Many grown persons would not have done much better. As the war progressed, everything in the way of needful articles of clothing and provisions, commanded the most fabulous prices. The consequence was, that Mrs. Murray soon found the little available funds left Arthur and herself exhausted. Several articles of furniture had already been sold to supply pressing wants. They owned a valuable cow and calf. Arthur proposed to his mother to allow him to sell the milk, for which there was a great demand in the city. To this she consented, and from day to day Arthur vended his milk, bringing home in return a small purse of money, which was found sufficient to purchase ne- 286 ARTHUR MURRAY, OUR LITTLE UERO. cessaiy supplies. In this way, the cow, " Old Cherry," and calf, " Little Dun," as Arthur called them, proved their most valuable property, and soon became their main de- pendence. Of course, Arthur was very much attached to them. He fed them with his own hands, and they, in turn, seemed equally attached to their little master, and mani- fested, in their dumb way, as animals often do for those who are kind to them, a fondness for his presence, and gratitude for his attentions. " Little Dun " was his only 'pet, and he was constantly playing pranks with him. They seemed thoroughly to understand each other in their tricks and sports. We are always sure to admire the boy or girl who never wantonly hurts one of God's creatures however insignificant They were given us for our use and pleasure, and not abuse. To maltreat them is vicious and sinful. It is an evidence of goodness of heart to deal with them kindly, and there is not unfrequently an inexplicable semi-human sort of af- fection shown by those dumb-creatures for their friends — something more than mere animal instinct. The large Newfoundland romping on the green with his little mistress, will allow no one to touch her without her consent ; and this he can tell by the glance of her eye. If a friend, he is at once as playful as ever, and on the best of terms with him ; but if an enemy, he growls fiercely, and springs to her side, interposing himself as a formidable barrier to fur- ther approach. On the morning when the terrible bombardment which we have attempted to describe began, Mrs. Murray was con- fined to her bed. She had been ill for some time with a slow, wasting fever, leaving her extremely nervous and debilitated. Her dwelling, like every other in the city and its environs, was pierced in various places with cannon balls. No less than twenty distinct holes could be counted in it, and every window was shattered and broken to pieces. At one time a shell came crashing, with its vile, hissing ARTHUR MURRAY, OUR LITTLE HERO. 287 sound, through the wall, shivering the post of the bed on which Mrs. Murray was lying, and throwing her violently on the floor. Arthur, standing by her side, narrowly es- caped. His hair was singed by the burning fuse, and he fell unconscious from the shock. Fortunately, the terrible missile, before exploding, passed out through the wall on the opposite side, doing no other damage than tearing away a large portion of the front porch. Arthur, as soon as he recovered himself, assisted his mother, as well as he was able, into an adjoining room, when he endeavored to calm her alarms by telling her that he knew " God would take care of them through the rest of the fight, as he had just been so kind in sparing their lives." He frequently ex- pressed the wish, " that his mother was well enough to allow him to go and fight too — that he was big enough to defend his own home." In the midst of the heaviest fire, a solid shot unhinged the door of the corn-shed and tore into splinters several of the planks. The frightened cow and calf, finding the door open, ran off across the fields. Arthur, seeing them, started quickly in pursuit. The ground was being con- stantly plowed up, and shells were every moment bursting overhead ; their whizzing fragments striking near him, but he thought not of his own danger. Unluckily, the cow and calf turned down across an open field, towards the river, where, on the opposite side, the enemy had a line of infantry concealed behind the bank. He did not overtake them until within range of the fire. Several shots were sent at him, and he heard them go singing by his ears ; but he did not stop. Once, meeting with some obstacle, he tumbled headlong on the ground ; he heard a yell ; for the Yankees evidently thought they had killed the little " rebel." But they had neither hurt nor frightened him. Up and on his way in an instant, he reached his cow and calf who, recognizing the voice of their little master, knew that a friend was near, and at once became docile. In a 288 ARTHUR MURRAY, OUR LITTLE HERO. few minutes he had driven back and again fastened them securely iu the cow-shed. On his return he found his mother very much excited on account of his absence, and when he recounted the risk he had run in recovering " Old Cherry " and " Little Dun," she would not permit him to leave the house again during the day. As it began to grow dark, the bombardment, which had been so fierce and continuous throughout the day, almost entirely ceased. Only a few shells went screaming through the air, directed at dark bodies of moving troops on the hill-tops, which were growing dim and indistinct. "While every one else was leaving the city, Arthur suc- ceeded in making arrangements for his mother to occupy a place in a neighbor's cart. Helping her in, and jDlacing her upon a bed propped up with pillows, Arthur told her not to be uneasy about him, that he would remain for a few moments to close the doors of the house, and get a few articles which, in their haste, had been forgotten, and that he would soon overtake them. Arthur was thinking of his cow and calf. He was not willing to leave " Old Cherry " and " Little Dun " to fall into the hands of the Yankees, to be butchered. He was their friend and protector, and it would be base ingratitude to abandon them to such a fate without an effort to save them. But could he drive them ? It was extremely cold, and the road would be crowded. He could at least try, and so resolving, he went to the cow-shed, called them by name, and opened the door. They walked quietly out, as if thoroughly understanding the danger they were in, and what their little master wanted with them. In a short time they were on the road in the mixed-up throng. Our " Little Hero " was driving them. It was his voice we heard at the conclusion of the first chapter. ARTHUR MURRAY, OUR LITTLE HERO. 289 CIIAPTEE III. Standing in a grove of oaks, a few yards to the left of the plank road, four miles from Fredericksburg, is a small brick chapel. It is but one story high. A narrow gal- lery, after the old fashion, is above the entrance, and ex- tends, on each side, towards the pulpit. This gallery is reached from a small steep stairway from the vestibule . The brick of which the house is built, are of a deep red, and have an antiquated look, as if washed for years by heavy rains. Salem Church, as it is called, is well known to the Army of Northern Virginia, and will occupy a place in history. All the private residences in the surrounding country were filled to overflowing, and several families were compelled to take refuge here. Among these unfortunates, was Mrs. Murray, who arrived about daylight, on the morning af- ter the bombardment. Her sufferings during the removal were very great, but she bore them uncomplainingly, and seemed only uneasy about Arthur, until he overtook her, and explained the cause of his remaining behind. It is difficult to conceive of the confusion and extreme unpleasantness of a dozen or more families, probably en- tire strangers to each other, crowded together in the same room, each in the other's way ; and where, even the priva- cy of the toilette could not be respected. But, when is added to the embarrassment of such a situation, hunger, cold, and almost utter destitution, and this too, of those who never knew before of want ; a picture of deepest and most pitiable misery is exhibited. Could this humble structure, dedicated to the worship of God, then sheltering these. His poor and wretched crea- tures, tell all that has transpired within and around its sacred walls, its story would be equally as wonderful as some of those told of the ancient abbeys, churches and 13 290 ARTHUR MURRAY, OUR LITTLE HERO. castles of the old world, and as full of strange contrasts. On a bright and lovely Sabbath morning, the 3rd of May, 1863, when the trees were beginning to bud. and the birds to sing ; at the very hour when those who had rear- ed the temple of the Most High, in days of peace, had been accustomed to meet together, to offer up to Him their prayers of thanksgiving for the blessings and comforts everywhere around them, it was the scene of terrible slaughter. Prayers and songs of praise were hushed. In their stead, sounded the clash of arras, the din of deadly strife, man against his fellow-man. Demons from the in- ferno seemed to have taken the place of the quiet worship- pers of God. The sacred ground was metamorphosed into an arena of hellish combat, where devils were strug- gling in fury and flame. Even the consecrated altar was stained with the blood of a sharp-shooter, who fell, strick- en dead upon it, and his heart's blood spattered the sa- cred desk. The bride, in pure white, had stood blushing here ; the Holy Sacrament had been administered here ; the baptismal ceremonies had been performed here ; the young, cut down in the bloom of youth, and the aged pious of the Church, had lain here, before being consigned to their last resting-place, while solemn anthems were chanted and the congregation wept. Now, blood shed by the hand of vio- lence, and a grinning, ghastly corjDse upon which had been left the impress of the anguished, writhing spirit that had been torn from its clay tabernacle, was upon it. On no part of the line from Chancellorsville to Freder- icksburg, was the position more desperately contested, or the engagement more sanguinary while it continued. It was at Salem Church that G-en. Wilcox, commanding a brigade of Alabamians, held a superior force of the enemy, consisting of New York troops, in check for several hours. For some time, the result of the conflict was doubtful. Both sides fought with obstinacy and courage. The lines ARTHUR MURRAY, OUR LITTLE HERO. 291 wavered alternately. First one and then the other gave back, but instantl}^ to press forward and regain the lost ground. At length reinforcements coining up to Wilcox, the enemy were driven from the field, leaving him in pos- session of their wounded and dead. In evidence of the fierceness of this battle, a trench containing more than a hundred of the Federal dead — killed outright on the spot, 'extends across the church-yard, and the building is marked on all sides by minie balls, with here and there holes made by solid shot, grape and shell. The scarred trees, too, bear testimony to the fierceness of the iron storm that raged among them. For several days after the battle, the church was used as a hospital for the Yankee wounded. The shrieks and groans of the sufferers, who lay in piles on the blood cov- ered floor, were very touching. It was then I made my last visit to Salem Church. Arms and legs, freshly ampu- tated, obstructed the door of the sanctuary : it was indeed a sickening sight. But to return to our story. Had Mrs. Murray been carried to a warm and comfort- able room, where she could have received proper attention, she might have recovered. But here, with neither, with- out a moment of quiet slumber and rest, she grew rapidly worse, and was soon too feeble to raise her head from her pallet, on the cold, hard floor. Arthur saw the change daily taking place in the wasted form and pale face of his mother. As he looked into her eyes, he saw that all hope and animation had fled, leaving in their stead, a deep and settled sadness — that their watery tears, the result of ex- treme debility and heart-grief, now constantly suftused them, imparting a sickly lustre, and he felt a vague sort of fear, that some great evil was about to befall him. In some way this apprehension seemed associated with his mother, but his mind was unprepared for its event — the saddest that ever occurs in this life. Somehow, he did not comprehend the fact, that he was about to be left mother- lees; that she, too, was about to die — to leave him. 292 ARTHUR* MURRAY, OUR LITTLE HERO. To supply her Avith necessary food and medicines, after exhausting every other means, Arthur sold his cow and calf to a commissary. He said not a word against parting with them, since it was for his mother's benefit ; in fact, he first proposed it, but as they were driven away by a squad of soldiers, he could not avoid shedding some bitter tears, si- lent and alone, as he looked at " Old Cherry " and "Little Dun " for the last time, and thought of his pets going to the slaughter-pen. It was hard to give them up. He had risked his life once to save them, and, after all, they must go. He could never forget the look they gave him from their large, clear, innocent eyes, as if to inquire, why rough men were standing around them with whips and ropes ? But as their little master, who had always been so kind to them, was near, they allowed themselves to be started off. Several times, however, finding he did not ac- company them, they made efforts to turn back to him. A month passed away, and Arthur had never left his mother's side, not even to visit his home in Fredericks- burg. He was anxious to go back, and if all had not been destroyed, bring away a few things which his mother needed. It was early in the morning, when, before start- ing, he placed his arms affectionately around his mother's neck and kissed her. She seemed better — much better than usual. It was only the exhilaration caused by the last effort of nature, before the patient expires. He could not know that the life-blood was already leaving the ex- tremities and gathering towards the heart, which would soon cease to beat, and that she was even then growing cold in death. He thought her hand felt like ice, as she clasped his own, and held it for a long time, before return- ing his Iviss, and bidding him good-bye ; but this did not alarm him. But something she said to him, gave him great uneasiness. Frequently while on the way, tears started in his eyes, and he thought to turn back, but then he would say : " I can soon go and return, and then I will ARTHUR MURRAY, OUR LITTLE HERO. 293 not leave mother again until she gets well." But still these words would trouble him : " I must soon leave you, Arthur. Father is waiting in heaven for me. Don't cry and grieve when I am gone. Think of us, and be a good boy. Some day you will come to us, and we will all be happy together." As a death-knell they rang in his ears, at every step. A brisk walk of two hours brought him to his home. He had not seen it since the night of the bom- bardment. Could it be the same place he had called his home but a month ago ? Everything was so changed. Around and upon it every where, desolation was written. A burial-place could not have looked more solemn. Where the little garden once smiled with its neat and pretty beds, was now a fenceless blank. Beneath the footsteps of the invader, all had been crushed and trampled into the earth. Not even a tree or a shrub remained. Even the little rose- bush which Arthur had planted and nurtured with his own hands, so tenderly, in the corner of the yard, was uprooted, and in its place was the grave of a private of a Massachusetts regiment. His body, but a few inches be- neath the sod, filled the air with a sickening stench. The pailings, which had enclosed the front yard, and which he thought so pretty, were nearly all torn oflP, and the few that remained, looked like the broken and shattered ranks of an army, after a great battle. As he walked, with heavy heart, about the premises, he found himself near the cow-shed. He opened the door, and it looked so vacant j ''Old Cherry" and "Little Dun" were not there. He thought of their fate, and sat down and took a hearty cry. He entered the house. It looked like a perforated honey- comb. He stood in his mother's room ; the walls looked so very drear and vacant. He started, as if with sudden fright at the echo of his own footsteps; there was some- thing so strange and grave-like in them. He recalled the day of the bombardment; he could hear the screaming of the shells and the deafening roar of the heavy guns. 294 ARTHUR MURRAY, OUR LITTLE HERO. There was the hole made by the vile shell which " came so near killing mother " and himself. Old memories, too, came thronging up. There was the hearth. Here is where mother used to sit, when the fire cracked and burned so cheerfully at evening. He had of- ten knelt by her side there, and said his prayers. On the other side father used to sit in his arm-chair. He remem- bered how he looked, reading his paper. He turned to the door. There was where he saw father for the last time. He was dressed in soldier-clothes, and kissed mother and himself as he went off; and mother cried, and so did he. That seemed a long time ago, and he did not know what sorrow was then. Father was dead, and would not come back again ; but would mother ever return and live with him, happy in their little home, as they once were ? Some- thing seemed to whisper that she would not, and he thought of what she had said to him in the morning. This troubled him, and he turned off hastily to finish his visit. He was anxious to get back to her side; she might be needing him. I will steal a parting glance at my own lit- tle room, thought he. It, at any rate, will remind me of the happy days of my infancy, when my heart beat so joy- ous and free ; it, at any rate, will look familiar and pleas- ant. Oh, horrible ! A dreadful stench greeted him as he opened the door. The floor was stained with blood, and covered with bandages and rags. The soldier that had been buried in the yard, had died there, after undergoing a surgical operation. An amputated leg, with large flies buzzing about it, still lay there. He rushed away from such a repulsive and sickening sight. As he passed out, he discovered a small kettle drum, which a Yankee had secreted under the doorsteps. This he took and carried along, determined to keep it, until he should become old enough to be a soldier himself. AYearied by his hurried walk, he returned to Salem ARTHUR MURRAY, OUR LITTLE HERO. 295 Church about mid-day. Two ladies, who were strangers to him, were standing in the door, as he reached it. He waited a moment for them to make room for him to pass, and this gave him opportunity to observe them somewhat closely. Freshly threaded needles, with long streaming white threads, were sticking in the bosoms of their dress- es. One of them had a thimble on her finger, and a pair of scissors hung suspended from her apron belt. They were discussing the length and breadth of a piece of white cambric which they held in their hands. As he went in, they whispered to him to " walk softly." He started back ! His mother's pallet had been remov- ed. Her lifeless form, enveloped in a white sheet, reposed on a wide board, resting on two chairs. She had, shortly after Arthur's departure in the morning, breathed out her pure spirit into the hands of Grod who gave it. Arthur was alone; fatherless, motherless; a houseless, penniless, friendless orphan. The sense of utter loneliness which haunted his mind, rose like a mountain, and crushed his very heart, before tears could gather in his eyes. He did not burst into passionate grief. His sorrow was too deep, too bitter, for outward demonstration. He felt that he, too, wanted to die. He could not bear the thought of being left without a friend — with no one to love or care for him. He kissed the cold, pale, blue hand, that lay mo- tionless by her side. He turned down the white sheet that covered her face. He looked but a moment. Oh, no, it cannot be mother! Those eyes dreadfully staring from their sockets, the purple lips, the ash-tinged cheeks? Oh, no, mother did not look so. He fell down by the bier, and lay unconscious of all around him. Man has his misery and suffering in this world ; woman has hers ; but child-grief should excite the deepest sympa- thy and commiseration. It is the struggle of the tender young soul, pure as it came from the hands of its Maker, with sin, and sorrow, and blackness. The world trea^^' 296 ARTHUR MURRAY, OUR LITTLE HERO. the orphan and outcast harshly ; but God, who " tempers the wind to the shorn lamb," has promised to be their friend. CHAPTEE IV. Having reached the last chapter of our story, we will not pause to attempt a description of Arthur's feelings after his mother's burial, nor of his destitute condition. Similar tales of suffering, caused by this unhappy war, might be told by the thousand; we therefore, hasten to the conclusion. A few days before the battle of Chancellorsville, a boy, just in his eleventh year, but remarkably frail for even that age, with pale and sickly face, made his appearance before the tent of the Colonel of the Yirginia regi- ment, encamped near Spottsylvania Court House. A bun- dle rested on his back, a small kettle-drum was suspended by a cord across his shoulders. He bore with him all he possessed in the world ; and his ragged clothes and bare feet indicated extreme poverty. The bundle contained a threadbare shirt, a worn out jacket, a pair of patched pants, and, most valuable of all, a pocket bible, upon the fly-leaf of which was written, in a feminine hand, *•' Mary Mur- ray," and an old-fashioned daguerreotype picture of his father and mother, taken shortlj^ after their marriage. These he often took out, when alone, and bedewed with tears. They were all that were left now, to remind him of those whose memory was so dear to him, and of the happier days of his early childhood. With what a sacred care he preserved them ! The drum will be recognized as the same which Arthur had found under the doorsteps, on his last visit to Fredericksburg, and the little boy as Ar- thur himself. ARTHUR MURRAY, OUR LITTLE HERO. 297 He told the Colonel that he wanted to be a soldier; that his father belonged to his regiment before he was killed, and that he had come to take his place. The Colonel could scarce have suppressed a smile, as he looked down at the delicate being before him, from whom this bold speech proceeded ; but there was something so strange, so melancholy in the manner, so determined in the flash of the little speaker's deep blue eyes, that he stood regarding him for a moment with intense curiosity. He at once felt an interest in his history. The Colonel, who was not only a valiant soldier, but a good and kind-hearted man, offered to give him money to supply his wants, but told him that it would be wrong to permit one so young to enter the military service ; that he could not endure its hardships. At the thought of being turned off, tears gathered in Arthur's eyes, but he brushed them away with his tatter- ed sleeve, and straightening himself up with as stout a heart as he could, he replied " that it was a soldier and not a beggar he wanted to be, and could not take the money ; and as to the hardships, he never expected to see greater than he had already experienced, and if he was not big enough to carry a musket and fight, he had brought his drum along, and could beat that." Here he paused a moment, and the thought occurred to him that by showing his proficiency as a drummer, he might not, after all, be rejected. He had learned nearly all the "calls," from hearing them so frequently beat in the neighboring camps. Seizing the sticks, he sounded the " long roll " in a dashing style, then turned to the Colonel, and in a confident voice, said: "Now, Colonel, you see I can beat the drum, let me join, if you please. I will promise to be always at my post." The Colonel told him that he " would give him an answer after breakfast," which was at that moment an- nounced. He made Arthur partake of his camp-fare with him, and while at the table, in answer to his questions, 13* 298 ARTHUR MURRAY, OUR LITTLE HERO. he related the tale of his sufferings, familiar to the reader. Breakfast over, the Colonel called to his Orderly, and directed him to request the Captain of Company G, to walk up to his head-quarters. After a short consultation, in which Arthur frequently heard the name of his father mentioned, the Colonel called him and introduced him to the Captain, as " the brave-hearted little man that wanted to ba a soldier." The Captain took him by the hand, in a very kind manner, and told him that his name should be placed upon the muster-roll, and that now he was a sol- dier, and belonged to the company and regiment his father once did. Arthur's joy knew no bounds ; he thanked the Colonel and Captain, over and over, for allowing him to be a soldier. He had taken his father's place ; there was a mission before him ; his heart swelled with pride, a new feeling had been awakened in it ; he grew taller and lar- ger; his hopes were realized: he was happy. As he had promised, Arthur was always at his post. Dur- ing the battle of Chaiicellorsville, he was with his regiment as it was going into action ; minie balls were flying thickly around, and his drum was struck in several places. The Colonel, happening to pass near the line where he was, and seeing him, turned quickly to his Adjutant and exclaimed: " See our little hero, marching with as bold a front as if he were the stoutest veteran in the ranks. It is a pity to have such a child unnecessarily sacrificed ; he can be of no service here : order him to the rear ! " The Adjutant rode up to Arthur, and directed him to remain at the field infir- mary until the fight was over. He begged to be allowed to go on, but the Adjutant repeated the command. His sparkling eyes and face which glowed with animation the moment before, now bore a look of extreme disappoint- ment. He gazed sadly at the line as it advanced with shouts and flying colors, leaving him behind. He felt it was his duty to be with them, and could not understand why he had been sent back. ARTHUR MURRAY, OUR LITTLE HERO. 299 These disagreeable feelings left him, however, when he reached the hospital. The wounded were already being brought in, and every minute he found something to do for the poor sufferers. Besides assisting in several ampu- tations, by holding the instruments for the Surgeons, he at one time accompanied the litter-bearers to the front, carrying a canteen of water to moisten the parched lips of the wounded and dying, fearless of the danger to which he was exposed. By his noble conduct in this battle, Arthur won the gratitude of many a poor fellow, and became a universal favorite with his regiment, and afterwards went by the sobriquet which had been given him by the Colonel — "Our Little Hero." ■ As a general thing, small boys, on entering the service, are put forward and so much petted by those older than themselves, that they are soon spoiled, and acquire among others, that most disgusting vice, profanity, so common in the army. This was not the case, however, with Arthur. He had not forgotten to treasure in his heart, the teach- ings of a pious mother, or to read his bible; and, braver than most grown men, he was not ashamed to be found on his knees, saying his prayers. Among his stern com- rades, he was respected as much from the purity of his character and Christian example, as loved for his unobtru- sive and polite manners. The Colonel regarded him with the affection of a father ; furnished him with a new and pretty uniform, and kept him most of the time at his headquarters. He became so much attached to his lit- tle protege that he contemplated taking him home to live with him when the war was over, adopting him as his son. On the Pennsylvania Campaign, to relieve Arthur from the fatigue of the long, weary marches, which he would have been unable to undergo on foot, the Colonel bought him a horse with handsome new trappings, and made him 300 ARTHUR MURRAY, OUR LITTLE HERO. an orderly. At the battle of Gettysburg, he permitted him to go with him into the action on the second day. On the third, late in the afternoon, the last charge was to be made against the " Eound Top."' Arthur, who escaped uuhurt on the day before, again insisted upon ac- companying the Colonel, who could not refuse his earnest entreaties. Unfortunately, during the charge, he was struck by a fragment of a shell on the left arm, near the shoulder. The flesh was almost entirely torn from the bone, which was broken in several places, making a ghast- ly wound. He fell from his horse, violently, upon the o-round. On recovering his senses, he found himself desert- ed and alone. The storm of battle was hushed, and a heavy sulphurous cloud rested upon the plain. Stars were beginning to twinkle through the darkness above. In dim outline were the figures of those who had fallen around him. The death-rattle and moan of the d^'ing floated upon the night breeze. The line, when he was stricken down, had swept swiftly past to the onset, and, unable to hold the position they had taken, had, as swiftly fallen back, leaving him between the contending armies. Arthur remembered the bursting of the shell near him. He looked at his mangled arm and tried to cry for help — for a drink of water, for he was burning with thirst. His strength failed, his blood was fast leaving him, he was deathly sick ; he sank back again upon the crimson turf When, on the return of the regiment, the " Little Hero" was among the missing, and it was said he was killed, great sorrow was expressed by all. Permission was asked of the Colonel to go down on the field and search for his body. He was found, after a brief search, in a pool of dark clotted blood, where he had fallen, apparently dead. AYhen it was ascertained he was still living, large crowds of his comrades gathered around him, and tears stood in their eyes. Stout arms tenderly bore him from the en- sanguined field. ARTHUR MURRAY, OUR LITTLE HERO. 301 The Surgeon resolved on immediate amputation. The amputation-board, repulsive at any time, in the case of little Arthur, was doubly so. Probably, no one of such tender years, during the war, had been placed upon it, to undergo an operation for wounds received in battle. The Colonel stood by and held the tender arm, while it was being taken oif. He looked very sad, and was anxious to do anything in his power for the little sufferer, for he now began to upbraid himself for permitting him to go into the battle at all. He watched over him with the utmost tenderness during the night. Arthur was delirious. He imagined his mother hover- ing near him ; he could hear the rustling of her dress, like angels' wings, and held out his remaining hand to catch it in his grasp. His fingers clenched in emptiness: she was gone. Then, in a voice weak and plaintive, but full of disappointment, he would cry: " Come hack, mother! don't leave me ! Co7ne, mother, come to your child ! " Nearly all the soldiei'S in the regiment came to see him. Their little " pet " was dying. It was evident he occupied a place in their affections — that they loved him as their child. Late in the afternoon, for a moment, his senses returned. It was the bright meteor-flash of light and consciousness which precedes the flight to the spirit-world. He asked the Colonel to have his little bundle brought from the staff-wagon. When it came, he begged for the picture of his father and mother. When given him, kissing it, he said to the Colonel : ^^ Father went first, mother next, and I am going now ! Mother said we would all be happy again in Heaven ! '* But a moment, and his words were verified; for the spirit of the '' Little Hero " went up to heaven where wars and sorrow are not known. The glaze came over his eyes, and the little heart pulsated for the last time in its delicate casement, as the red-tinged rays of light lingered 302 ARTHUR MURRAY, OUR LITTLE HERO. among the trembling foliage of the forest trees, and a soli- tary bird, bidding adieu to departing day, chirped and hopped among their branches. During the night, orders were given to fall back. A hole was dug with bayonets, under a tall elm, by the scarred and begrimed warriors, as their last pious service for their " Little Hero." Tears stole down their bronzed cheeks, as, wrapped in his blanket, with unusual softness for such rough hands, they affectionately placed his lifeless and fragile form in its earthly bed. Hearts steeled against emotions of pity, from long fa- miliarity with the horrors of war, were moved and softened at the sad and touching sight, as the body, with the arm which had been severed from it, were enclosed together ; and a tiny mound was fashioned over the grave of this pure and noble child. Unless trodden underfoot by strangers, or obliterated and swept away, by the pelting rains that have since fall- en upon it, the little mound may still be seen, marked by a fragment of board, upon which was carved in rude letters, by a camp-fire, these words : "Arthur Murray, OUR Little Hero." MY SOUTHERN HOME. 303 ir S0utl^cm pinm^. COL. B. H. JONES. '' By the ruins of Babylon, there we sat down ; yea, we wept when we remembered Zion."— Psalms cxxxvii. If Judean captives sat and wept, by Babel's river's sides, As memories of Zion far came flowing as the tides ; If on the willows hung their harps, when asked to wake a strain Of Zion's plaintive melody, on Chaldea's distant plain. If they a fearful curse invoked uj)on each cunning hand, Prayed that each traitor-tongue benumbed might paralytic stand. If they allowed disloyalty old memories to destroy. If they held not Jerusalem above their chiefest joy : Shall I not weep, Virginia's hills, her slopes and grassy plains, Her cities and her villages \ her cottages and fanes ; Her sons so gallant, chivalrous ; her bracing mountain air ; Her daughters pure and beautiful, and true as they are fair. Shall not my harp remain unstrung, the captive sing no more ? How can I wake the minstrelsy of " Old Yirginia's Shore ? " The Swiss may pine for glaciers wild, the Scot for glen and lake. The Sciote for Kis Island home, where maids the vintage make : I pine for grand old mountains far, where the free eagle's form Floats dimly in the upper sky, fierce monarch of the storm ; 304 THE VICTORY OF TRUTH. The scenes of happy boyhood's years, of vigorous man- hood's prime, Of memories that shall e'en survive the with'ring hand of Time. For there a sainted mother sleeps beneath the grassy sod, And there's my darling brother's form, red with his young life's blood, And there a fond and gentle wife weeps in her widowhood. And there a gray-haired father mourns the loved one's gone to God. A curse, then, on my good right hand, a curse upon my tongue, If I forget my Southern home — the loins of which I sprung; There let me go ; my heart is there — there I may calmly die; Virginia's turf must wrap my clay, her winds my requiem sigh ! Johnson's Island^ September, 1864. CIj^ Widow nf ^n\il)> A STORY OF THE OLDEN TIME. BY COL. WILLIAM S. HAWKINS. At the trumpet's blast the gates flew open wide, And thousands packed the court Before the Eoman Lords that day, The captives furnished sport. THE VICTORY OF TRUTH. 305 The sun's broad orb went up the sky And tipped the scene with gold, And far beyond the Claudian way The yellow Tiber rolled. The gladiators first in strife, Their glittering weapons crossed ; And furious then in mortal surge The waves of conflict tossed. Strong men were there, whose children played By Danube's sluggish tide, And those whose homes lay sweet and fair Along the Taurus' side — Then fierce-eyed tigers of the Lybian wild Leaped forth into the cirque, And spotted leopards, lithe and strong, Began their horrid work ; And howls of pain and yells of wrath. Filled all the trembling air, While Eoman Knights applauded low. And smiled the Eoman fair. At length the heralds far proclaimed, " The last, best scene of all," And led a Christian martyr forth In fetters' grievous thrall — 'No youth in bold and manly strength, No feeble gray-haired sire) A soft-eyed maiden sweet and pure. To whet a lion's ire. She stood with timid glance cast down, And tremulous, like a fawn, Which baying hounds and hunters rude. Surround at hour of dawn ; One white hand slowly lifted up The cruel galling chain, While one pressed close her beating heart, 306 THE VICTORY OF TRUTH. For there was grief and pain. She thought of home and peaceful joys ; Of her Father, strong and proud ; And of her Mother's faithful love By weight of misery bowed. Of her sisters and her brothers fond, And of ONE — she could not speak, But at the slightest thought of him A blush suffused her cheek. 'Twas thus theyneax'ed the monster's den, "With triple iron bound — Through all the spectacles his might "With bloodiest triumphs crowned, White, his large teeth — and dark and red His yawning, dreadful throat. His eyes aflame, and thus he seemed On his new prize to gloat ; He rose and shook his bristling mane, And clamored at his door. The far off hill-tops echoed loud His deep resounding roar. So, in the distant wastes he looked. When roused by foes for fight. And such a glance and such a roar. Filled every soul with fright. They loosed the chain and left her there In all her maiden grace ; While only star-like faith lit up The heaven of her face. The ponderous hinges turned, and forth The brute in fury sprung ; His lips all flecked with gore and foam, And swelled his lollino; tono-ue. The heathen thousands rose to see THE VICTORY OF TRUTH. 307 That youthful martyr die — But ah! what magic spell is that Whose lustre fills her eye ? Her sweet lips part — her bosom throbs — Her beauteous arms are raised — The cruel beast forgets his wrath, Before that look amazed. She kneels, and on the yielding sands Her rounded form sinks low ; Down in her soul, the maiden prays Unto her God, and so The pure appeal is borne on high By watching angels, fleet — And lo ! the humbled monster comes And crouches at her feet ; Her little hand is gently laid Upon his tawny mane, Her tender eyes are wet with tears, Like violets after rain. The mail-clad courtiers shake the rins: With thundering acclaim ; But her weak lips can onl^^ shape Her Heavenly Father's name ! The Emperor rose in purple state, And bade his minions bear. The ransomed maiden forth asiain. To Freedom's thrilling air ; And stately Priests their rites ordained, Within the templed grove ; Ascribing praise to Juno fair, And to Olympian Jove. But heathen gods are wood and stone. Hers — is a Father dear, To whom, in child-like trusting love, 308 LIEUT. HOWARD C. WRIGHT, OF LOUISIANA. Her fainting heart drew near ; When Lions fierce of doubt and sin Their brutal force prepare, Before a frowning world — our help, Like hers — will be in prayer ! Then let the Church, in these dark days, Stand bravely at her post, Though cruel wars and strifes abound, And Satan leads his host; They gnash their Lion-fangs at her, But ah, they gnash in vain ; For He will send His armies down To save and to sustain! And in some gracious, coming time, Truth's banner white, shall be. The noblest badge of migljt sublime, That waves on land or sea. "When War's red-lettered creed shall die. Beneath the floAvers of spring : Then, where our Martyrs fight and bleed, Their babes shall sit and sing ! This accomplished, talented and gallant author of the following, was connected with a leading newspaper in New Orleans prior to the war, and commanded the love, respect and confidence of the public. In the beginning of our struggle he connected himself as a private with the 31st Louisiana regiment, and served with distinguished gallantry up lo the surrender of Port Hudson, July 9th, 1863. From this point he was carried as a prisoner to LIEUT. HOWARD C. WRIGHT, OF LOUISIANA. 309 New Orleans, where, for a considerable time, he was on his parole of honor ; ultimately he was sent to Johnson's Island, and detained there un- til the spring of 1865, when he was exchanged. He immediately started southward to join the forces of General Kirby Smith. Reaching the vi- cinity of West Point, Georgia, and learning that Wilson and his raiders were near at hand, he joined the small yet heroic command at that place, and in the desperate conflict, the very last of the war that ensued, was killed. Tall, straight, with regular features, dark eyes, hair flowing and black as the raven's wing ; dignified in deportment, yet of pleasing ad- dress, he was a man to be observed amongst a thousand. At the time of his death he probably was not more than twenty-three or twenty-four years of age. THE YOLUNTEEE'S EETUE:Nr. BY LIEUT. HOWARD C. WRIGHT. 'Tis just three years this morning Since last I viewed this spot ; All thoughts of danger scorning, How happy then my lot ! Three years ! and now returning My happy home to see, I find its rafters burning — My Grod ! can such things be ? 'Tis just three years since gaily I marched, the foe to meet j In spirit I came daily. My dear loved ones to greet. I've thought, mid cannon's thunder, Of wife and child again. And sadly paused to wonder. If they were happy then. A wounded pris'ner sighing, Long, weary months away ; Upon a pallet lying. How longed I for this day I 310 MAJ. GEORGE MCKNIGHT, "ASA HARTZ." I saw my wife advancing To meet my fond embrace ; The love-light of her gleaming Fall in my eager face. Beneath yon weeping willow, In death I found her laid, Her breast the last fond pillow, That for her babe'was made ! Oh, good and great Jehovah ! Can vengeance longer sleep ? Forbearance now is over, 'Tis time their murd'rers weep ! Major George McKnight, ("Asa Hartz,") was born in Camden, South Carolina, the 26th April, 1833. He began to learn the printing business in Cheraw, at an early age, after a school term of four months, having pre- viously been taught to read at home. When eighteen, he left South Caro- lina and went to Alabama, where he remained until January, 1860, and then removed to New Orleans, and took a position as local editor of the New Orleans Delta. In January, 1862, he was elected Major of what was called the Beauregard Regiment. Upon the capture of New Orleans he escaped from the city, and, after filling a number of places suitable to his military rank, was assigned to duty as Assistant Adjutant General of Major General Loring's division. After taking part in several engagements in the Southwest, he was captured on the 19th of July, 1863, about four miles from Hazlehurst, Miss. He was taken to Johnson's Island, Ohio, and remained there a prisoner more than a year. He is now engaged as an associate editor of the New Orleans Picayune. His first wife, formerly Miss Woodal, of Georgia, was killed by Iowa troops, at Jackson, Miss., in May, 1863. He married again, in 1865, Miss Isabel B. Taylor, of Richmond, Virginia. MAJOR GEORGE McKNIGHT, ''ASA HARTZ." 311 MY LOYE AND I. MAJOR GEORGE MCRNIGUT. My love reposes on a rosewood frame ; A " bunk " have I ; A couch of feathery down fills up the same • Mine — straw, but dry." She sinks to sleep at night with scarce a sigh ; AYith waking eyes I watch the hours creep by. My Love her daily dinner takes in state, And so do I. The richest viands flank her silver plate, Coarse " grub " have I ; Pure wine she sips at ease her thirst to slake, Ipump my drink from Erie's limpid lake. My Love has all the world to roam ; Five acres I ; She goes abroad, or quiet sits at home ; So cannot I. Bright angels watch around her couch at night ; A " Yank " with loaded gun keeps me in sight. A thousand weary miles now stretch between My Love and I ; To her this wintry night, cold, calm, serene, I waft a sigh. And hope, with all my earnestness of soul, To-morrow's mail may bring me my parole ! There's hope ahead ? We'll meet one day again. My Love and I ; We'll wipe all tears of sorrow then ; Her love-lit eye Will all my many troubles then beguile, And keep this wayward " Eeb " from Johnson's Isle. 312 LEONIDAS POLK, PRIEST AND WARRIOR. l^^omtras Holh, priest aittr Wimxox. BY E. C. MCCARTHY. We hear a solemn, saddening sound — A mournful knell ; From every sacred spire tolls forth The funeral bell. Through all the land a wail goes out — The nation weeps, And voices, full of tears, proclaim — " A hero sleeps ! " Forever stilled the noble heart "Within his breast ! The Patriot, Soldier, Martyr, Priest, Is gone to rest ! Then, everywhere let joy be hashed, And bowed each head ; Truth, Chivalry and Freedom weep, For Polk is dead ! And near the spot where fell our chief We wait the foe ! But we weep not, though all our hearts Are full of woe ! Our sobs are hushed where cannons roar And triggers fall ; The tears we shed are grape, and shell. And minie ball ! A thought, undying, sternly throbs Our hearts among ; And vengeance leaps from every eye. From every tongue ! "THE HEROES THAT DIED FOR ITS." 313 For this, Oh, God ! we watch and wait From hour to hour ! Be ours, Almighty One, the arms. And thine the power ! *' §0 ^t Seep for i\t ferots tijat ^ub for Ss ! " FATHER A. J. RYAN. Do we weep for the heroes that died for us, Who, living, were true and tried for us, And in death, sleep side by side for us ? The martyr band That hallowed our land With the blood they poured in a tide for us. Ah ! fearless on many a day for us. They stood in front of the fray for us, And held the foemen at bay for us ; Fresh tears should fall Forever — o'er all Who fell while wearing the gray for us. How many a glorious name for us, How many a story of fame for us, They left ! Would it not be a shame for us If their memory part From our land and heart, And a wrong to them and a blame for us ? U 314 BRIG. GEN. M. JEFF. THOMPSON, OF MISSOURI. No ! no ! no ! they were brave for us, And bright were the lives they gave for us ; The land they struggled to save for us Cannot forget Its warriors yet Who sleep in so many graves for us. No ! no ! no ! they were slain for us, And their blood flowed out in a rain for us ; Kedj rich, and pure, on the plain for us ; And years may go But our tears will flow O'er the dead who have died in vain for us ? And their deeds — proud deeds — • shall remain for us, And their names — dear names — without stain for us. And the glories they won shall not wane for us ; In legend and lay, Our heroes in gray. Though dead, shall live over again for us. Irig. (Sen. ^. feff. 8^lj0mps0it, of P^bsourr. General M. Jeff. Thompson was born at Harper's Fer- ry, Virginia, January 22, 1826. His father, Merriwether Thompson, was the son of Captain Edmund Thompson, who commanded a company from Hanover County, Ya., during the Eevolutionary War. His mother was Martha BRIG. GEN. M. JEFF. THOMPSON, OF MISSOURI. 315 Slaughter Broadus, of Culpepper County, Ya., and was the daughter of Major Daniel Broadus, who was also an officer in the same struggle for independence. Both grand- fathers were present at the surrender of Cornwallis at Yorktown. At the age of eighteen years, he entered the store of J. J & E. P. Miller, in Charlestown, Ya.; with the inten- tion of becoming a merchant ; he subsequently served ac- ceptably in leading houses in Philadelphia and Baltimore. In 1848, he removed to St. Joseph, Missouri, where he con- tinued to reside till the breaking out of the war, filling a number of offices of jDublic trust and responsibility. As the storm of war gathered, Gen. Thompson, as might have been anticipated from his honored and patriotic lineage, espoused the cause of the South. With his own hands he pulled down the United States flag that floated over the Post Office in St. Joseph, and, to use his own language : " did several other foolish things more credita- ble to his courage than his judgment." Want of space forbids a detailed narrative of General Thompson's career during the war; which, of itself, fills a respectable volume. Suffice it to say, that he was con- spicuous for patient endurance, dashing courage, and ready resources, throughout the conflict. The field of his operations extended from near St. Louis, to the neighbor- hood of New Orleans, and well deserved the title of the " Marion of the Confederacy." In August, 1863, a sudden dash of 600 Federal cavalry into Pocahontas, Arkansas, resulted in Gen. Thompson's capture. He was taken to St. Louis, and confined in that den of barbarity known as the " Gratiot street Prison," and then transferred respectively, to the Illinois Peniten- tiary, to St. Louis, and to Johnson's Island, where he re- mained till February, 1864, thence to Point Lookout, thence to Fort Delaware, and, finally, to the Prison Ship off Charleston, where, after remaining a month, he was exchanged. 316 "THOU ART DEAD, MY MOTHER." He was ordered, soon afterwards, to report to General Kirby Smith, Trans-^Iississippi Department ; but, hearing of Gren. Price's invasion of Missouri, he obtained permis- sion to join that officer; and travelling with their compan- ions across an extensive tract of country, he came up with the desired command at the close of the battle of Trenton. He was immediately assigned to the command of Shel- by's Brigade, and fought almost every day, until the Con- federates left the State, on the retreat. After reaching good quarters, in Texas, he was assigned to the command of the iS'orthern Sub-District of Arkansas, including Mis- souri. He had just entered upon the vigorous discharge of his duties, when the news of the Confederate misfor- tunes in Virginia reached him. Gen. Eeynolds, Federal commander at Little Eock, immediately demanded a sur- render, but it was declined. Gen. Dodge next renewed the same, accompanied by a large force, to which Gen. Thompson yielded. A few days afterwards, he proceeded to New Orleans, where he is now in the grocery and commission business. " Cfeou Sri §ccxii, ISb UTot^w. " BY GEN. M. JEFF. THOMPSON. I've stood 'mid many a battle blast. And braved the shock of charging horse, 'Mid comrades falling thick and fast. And gaping wounds, and ghastly corse ! MY WIFE AND CHILD. Such sights but nerve a soldier's soul — And there we must our feelings smother ; But now my tears brook no control, I hear that thou art dead, my Mother I I've sat beside my dying friends, And seen their life-blood ooze away — And felt that I my life could end In earnest prayer that they might stay, Fond ones to cheer with friendship dear, For truly loved I as a brother; But all such grief scarce drew a tear To those I shed for thee, my mother ! But a soldier has no time for tears ; My country needs my constant thought; My heart I steel 'gainst griefs and fears, For freedom thus- is ever bought! A messmate falls, we say " Good bye!" The next in ranks becomes another: There's not the pain, though all should die, Like this — the loss of thee, my mother I 317 Pg Wife anir C^iltr. BY HENRY R. JACKSON, OF GEORGIA. The tattoo beats— the lights are gone, The camp around in slumber lies, The night with solemn pace moves on. The shadows thicken o'er the skies : 318 MY WIFE AND CHILD. But sleep my weary eyes hath flown, And sad uneasy thoughts arise. I think of thee, oh, dearest one. Whose love my early life hath blest ; Of thee and him — our baby son — "Who slumbers on thy gentle breast. God of the tender, frail and lone, Oh, guard the tender sleeper's rest ; And hover gently, hover near To her, whose watchful eye is wet — To mother, wife — the doubly dear, In whose young heart have freshly met Two streams of love so deep and clear : And cheer her drooping spirits yet ! !N"ow, while she kneels before Thy throne. Oh, teach her, Rulei' of the skies, That while by Thy behest alone. Earth's mightiest powers fall or rise, No tear is wept to Thee unknown, 'No hair is lost, no sparrow dies ! That Thou can'st stay the ruthless hand Of dark disease, and soothe its pain ; That only by Thy stern command The battle's lost, the soldier slain — That from the distant sea or land, Thou bring'st the wanderer home again. And when, upon her pillow lone. Her tear-wet cheek is sadly prest, May happier visions beam upon The brightening current of her breast : No frowning look, or angry tone, Disturb the Sabbath of her rest. THE FEDERAL CHAPLAIN'S STORY. 319 Whatever fate those forms may show Loved with a passion almost wild — By day — by night — in joy or woe — By fears oppressed, or hopes beguiled, From every danger, every foe, Oh God ! protect my wife and child I BY MRS. GEN. W. H. SMITH, OP VIRGINIA. As the Federal army under Gen. Hunter, shattered and starving, passed through I ewisburg, on its disastrous retreat from Lynchburg, the Rev. Mr. Osborne, a Federal chaplain, called at the residence of Rev. Dr. Mc- Elhenny, Pastor of the Presbyterian Church in that place, and related the circumstances attending the murder of David S. Creigh. Dinner coming on, he was pressed by the Doctor to join in a family meal. The chaplain declined, declaring that since that atrocious murder, he could not " consent to break bread under a Southern roof." He lived the life of an upright man. And the people loved him well ; Many a wayfarer came to his door, His sorrow or need to tell. A pitying heart and an open hand, Gave succor ready and free ; For kind and true to his fellow-man. And a Christian was David Creigh. But o'er his threshold a shadow passed, With the step of a ruffian foe ; — "While insolent words and brutal threats A purpose of darkness show ; 320 THE FEDERAL CHAPLAIN'S STORY. And a daughter's wild imploring cry Called the father to her side — His hand was nerved by the burning wrong, And there the offender died. The glory of Autumn had gone from earth ; The Winter had passed away, And the glad Spring-time was merging fast Into Summer's ardent ray, TVhen a good man from his home was torn — Days of toilsome travel to see — And far from his loved, a crown was worn, And the martyr was David Creigh ! " " The tramp of your men is at our door, On an evil errand come ; But, for love of Him whose garb you wear, I invite you to my home." So spake the Southron ; the Chaplain, thus : " Though sick and weary I be, I can't break bread 'neath a Southern roof, Since the murder of David Creigh ! "Here, where he lived, let the end be told, Of a tale of bitter wrong ; Here, let our famishing thousands learn. To whom vengeance doth belong. Short grace was given the dying man, E're led to the fatal tree, And short the grace to our starving hosts, Since the murder of David Creigh " *' Our hosts were stayed in their onward way, Exulting in pow'r and pride, By an unseen hand — defeat and want Our banners now march beside ; THE MARTYRS OP THE SOUTH. 321 And a heavier burden no heart hath borne, Than the one that came to me, With the dying words and the Uitest sigh, Of the martyr, David Creigh. " The beast of the desert shields its young, With an instinct fierce and wild. And lives there man with the heart of man, AVho would not defend his child ? No ! woe to those who call evil, good — That woe shall not come to me — War hath no record of fouler deed Than the murder of David Creigh I t Utartgrs of % ^niitlj. BY A. B. MEEK, OF ALABAMA. Oh, weep not for the gallant hearts Who fell in battle's day ; They well performed their hero parts And passed from earth away. They lie asleep on honor's bed — Young Freedom's martyred band — For all that's dear to man they bled — For God and native land ! Weep not for Jackson, who laid down His life in fullest fame; Who always wore the victor's crown, Now wears a deathless name! 14* 322 THE MARTYRS OF THE SOUTH. Oh ! what a loss that day was ours, When that great light grew dim : We weep among our darkened bowers, But do not weep for him. For Sidney Johnston — whose high worth Was Freedom's polar star — Who, like Elijah, passed from earth In battle's fiery car ; Shed not a tear — he is not dead — But UP from Shiloh gone ! Where wreaths ambrosial deck his dead, Beside great Washington. Weep not for Garnett, his young brow Among the earliest paled ; Though death compelled his form to bow, His spirit never quailed ! Among Virginia's mountain heights. With G-arland by his side. And Starke ; they fought for Southern rights And for their country died. Oh, for McCuUough, do not weep — The Marion of the West — I^or for Bartow, nor Bee — but keep Their memories in the breast. They realized man's noblest fate — In victory's lap to lie ; We all must die, or soon or late — How blest like him to die ! Fair Mississippi's stalwart chief — Brave Barksdale — too, has gone, And Zollicoffer's life too brief, Moulton and Green passed on. THE MARTYRS OP THE SOUTH. 323 Kentucky's Hanson slumbers low, With Helm and Branch as well ; Pour not for them the stream of woe, With heroes now they dwell ! For Alabama's own loved dead, Though humbler be their names. Why should the selfish tear be shed ? For they are God's and fame's. Eest Irby, Webb, Jones, Hobbs and Hale, Eest Jewett, Somers, Moore, Inge, Gareott, Lomax, Pelham, Baine, On death's wide, peaceful shore. What stars crowd out upon the sky. Of history, as I write ! Would I could number them on high, The planets of our night. They live immortal ; and for them We need not shed a tear; Each wears a golden diadem In a heroic sphere ! But we must weep — aye, deeply mourn For our own selves bereft. The priesthood from our altars torn, Our homes in darkness left. The widowed and the orphan band On fate's rude waters tost — Weep for the anguish-stricken land That such great souls has lost ! 324 IF A SOLDIER MEET A SOLDIER. Jf a Sfllbier mut a Sr)Ib*ur. BY GEN. M. JEFF. THOMPSON. Air. — " Coming ihro' the Rye.^' If a soldier meet a soldier, 'mid the battle's din, And the soldier kills the soldier — surely 'tis no sin ; But if a soldier meet a soldier, when the fight is o'er, He gives his han' and shares his can, like gallant men of yore. If a soldier meet a soldier — I pray you now take note. And to that soldier, says Mr. Soldier: " come out of that 'ere coat ! " Now this soldier, to that soldier, really means no ill, For ''Uncle Sam," or "Cousin Sail," has to foot the bill. But if a soldier's not a soldier, though he wear the coat, Then some soldier of that soldier, should promptly cut his throat ; For a soldier 's not a soldier, if his brand 's of fire. And homesteads, hearthstones, family altars, only feel his ire. The kind of soldiers loved by soldiers, carry brands of steel, And the strong blows of a soldier, soldiers dare to feel ; But a soldier damns the soldier, who, shunning a fair fight, Makes widows lone, and orphans poor, only know his might. There are some soldiers — Christian soldiers — who seem to love the strife. And these soldiers, of other soldiers, gladly take their life. But all good soldiers, patriot soldiers, pray the strife to cease; Each humbly asks, Great God, of Thee, our Liberty and Peace. Fort Delaware, Del. , April, 1861 . BURY OUR DEAD. 325 §itr|T ©III" gmir. Bury our dead ! From Eama's shore ! From every beauteous Southland vale, Is borne the saddest cry on earth, A Mother Country's childless wail! Weep stricken land, Weep for thy slain ! Oh, give them back, Historic plain ! They rise ! Proud Mother, bare thy breast, Dead Sons would lay them down to rest ! Fathers ! By all the pride of blood And name bequeathed from sire to son, Untarnished, they return to shield, By honor's death the lost boy won ! Grey veterans, come ! Each battle plain Bears witching heaps Of kindred slain ! To martial step they are filing past, Furloughed for. home, you'll meet at lasti' Mothers bereft ! Unburied sons Claim graves upon ancestral sod ! Yours are the hands to lift them up And give them back again to Godl With feeble step And silvered head, Ye childless Eachaels Baise your dead ! While angels chant the martyr knell ; Aye, lift them gently where they fell ! 326 BURY OUR DEAD. Oh, Sisters, Avho have earlv worn Black grief, in voiceless, deadly pain Of stifled tears! The sickening cry For Eama's sturdy manhood slain ! Come, maidens, come, The task is ours To wreathe their tombs TVith Southern flowers. Come softly, while the sad refrain Floats on, oh, bring them back again ! Brothers ! Ye braves of willing hand, You're spared, while gallant comrades fell. And few remain, in whispers low, The glory of our Flag to tell ! Men battle-scarred, Heroic death Is all at last ! Life's sweetest breath Can give no more — the spirit throng Cry : " Give us graves, ye brothers strong ! " Poor Widows, who must yearn in vain, With folding hands and drooping head. By dreary hearthstones wet with tears. Come, help us lift our darling dead ! Oh, suffering Wife, Their voices grand, Ask graves upon The Mother land ! Where bright Magnolia forests steep White incense — lay them down to sleep ! Bury our dead ! Sad human cry ! Beneath the stately flame-scathed pine, Or orange grove, where dark-eyed maids. Bright chaplets, evergreen, may twine 1 TWENTY-FOUR HOURS OF FEDERAL PRISON LIFE. 32V Brothers disarmed ! The din is o'er, We'll ask for graves And claim no more, Save drooping flag and muffled drum For Southern dead ! Come, Southrons, come ! S^totite-faur pours oi Jftir^ral ^rbon i^ife. BY COL. B. H. JONES. Outsiders are curious to know how Prisoners of War pass their time. Should what I am about to write ever go beyond the hated steel-bristling walls, by which I am surrounded, this desire may, to some extent, be gratified. Eeader, follow me from dawn to dawn again, and you will see what these three thousand Confederate prisoners are doing. Awaking at the peep of day, we may, if we wish, get up and make our toilette ; but we must be careful not to stir abroad, but confine ourselves to our room until reveille. For, should we go out to snuff the fresh breeze of morn- ing that comes floating so softly across the placid bosom of Lake Erie, before we have heard that signal, we will certainly be ordered to our quarters by one of those blue- coated gentlemen promenading the parapet, and should we stand " upon the manner of our going," instead of going at once, the crack of a minie rifle, and the sharp whiz of a ball, will remind us that, here, at least, we are not the 328 TWENTY-FOUR HOURS OP FEDERAL PRISON LIFE. creatures of our own volition. After reveille, however, we are at liberty to go where we please within the prison, provided we do not please to essay a transit across the *' dead line," in which event, we should probably be carried back on a stretcher ; so a due regard for the well-being of " mama's darling child " forbids a trial of that experi- ment. Hark ! the reveille is sounding, the sharp rat tat too of which goes rattling across the waters, and is lost in the forests of the encircling shores, ^ow, there is a general uprising, though of a very peaceable character, through- out our community. The next task, a very light one, how- ever, is to prepare our breakfast. By the way, have you ever studied that word " breakfast "? It implies that we have been fasting, and that the fast is about to be broken — break-the-fast. It is misapplied here, however, for we fast all the time : not because of our remarkable piety, for we are as bad as other people ; nor from choice, but neces- sity. Breakfast is over. Listen ! The drum is sounding "roll-call." Get ready to "fall in," for a surly, prying, peeping corporal will be around, and if we should be found in our room, our rations — unless we are sick and have a written permit from our Block-Surgeon to remain in — will be stopped for full twenty-four hours ; a serious mat- ter for the consideration of starving men. IsTow the prison gate opens, and a squad of tastefully attired Federal Lieutenants enter, and, separating just inside the " dead line," take their positions in front of the several blocks. The prisoners, divided into companies, swarm from their quarters, like bees from their hives, and fall in line. The roll is next called, and each man, as he answers to his name, step two paces to the front, thus gradually forming a second line. This stepping to the front is a new regulation, the design of which is to pre- vent our "playing off" upon those loyal custodians of our TWENTY-FOUR HOURS OF FEDERIIL PRISON LIFE. 329 persons. Formerly we remained stationary as we respond- ed, and if a companion had escaped during the preceding night, by previous arrangement a mess-mate, after answer- ing to his own name, would slip down in rear of the line, take the place of the fugitive, and when his name was called, answer to it. This " sharp practice " would be kept up for probably five or six mornings, the roll-calling officer deceived all the while, and regularly reporting " all pres- ent or accounted for ; " after which, the substitute would call out : '' Well, Lieutenant, I reckon " — Southerners al- ways "recAon," Yankees ^' guess" — "I reckon T have an- swered for John Smith long enough, and as he is, by this time, either in 'Dixie ' or Canada, you had as well scratch him off! " The blank look of the Lieutenant, upon the receipt of this startling piece of information, m2ij be readi- ly conceived. This game, however, is now "blocked;" when there is no response to a call, and no one steps to the front, the roll-caller makes a peculiar mark opposite the name, and then, if the prying, rummaging Corporal, already alluded to, returns from his search through the quarters and reports the gentleman " not found," it is very reasonably " guessed " that he is somewhere on the Ohio shore, making a forced march, either for the dominions of Jefferson Davis or those of her Eoyal Majesty, Queen Victoria ; and the agency of telegraph wires is j)romptly invoked to " head him off." Eoll-call is over now, and what means the sudden rush of the " grey jackets " upon the heels of that little German Jew "Yank," who, having come in, is walking briskly towards the space in rear of the Sutler's store ? He is the most interesting personage on the Island, not even except- ing the affable and dignified Col. Hill, Commandant of the- Prison. He feels his importance, too, most hugely. His ascension in the scale of human greatness has far excelled the loftiest flights of his youthful ambition, when indulg- ing in copious draughts of his favorite lager, on the banks 330 TWENTY-FOUR HOURS OP FEDERAL PRISON LIFE. of the crag-castled Ebine, he dreamed of the exalted po- eiiion of a gcDtlemau'8 lacquey. He is Express Agent for Confederate Prisoners, and the book in his hand contains the names of those for whom packages of nice clothing, and boxes of edibles, have just been landed from the Island steamer. He places himself as quickly as possible beyond the ''dead line," and faces to the "right about;" and well he may thus seek refuge from the thousand ex- cited, eager, yelling prisoners. They follow him, however, to the very edge of the fatal line that marks the boundary between life and death, where, as if by a common impulse, they come to a sudden and simultaneous halt. How the poor fellows crowd, and elbow, and jostle each other ! No fear of pickpockets here — empty pockets fear no picking. The money sent them is retained outside, the Sutler re- ceiving checks on the Treasurer for bills made in his gouging establishment. True, there may be a five, ten, or even twenty dollar gold piece nailed up in that " Eeb's " boot-heel, as a sort of sui-e "stand by," should he ever es- cape, but what thief so sharp as to scent coin through an inch of sole leather, or, unobserved, to steal the heel of a man's boot — the boot on the foot, and the wearer standing in it ? How they tip-toe ! How eager and expecting their faces ! How breathlessly they listen to each name as it is read out! How savagely they mutter curses upon his semi-barbaric tongue that refuses to call the name in- telligibly ! How they torture the pronunciation of each name into a fancied resemblance to their own ! With what a vim the lucky ones shout: "Here!" and what a grin defines itself from ear to ear as they do so; and how suddenly a shadow of disappointment saddens a thousand eyes, just blazing with hope, as the last on the list is called and the book closed. How suggestive is this scene, of that, when the Book of Eternal Life shall be opened for the grand and final roll-call of the Universe! Who sends these packages and boxes of nice and good TWENTY-FOUR HOURS OF FEDERAL PRISON LIFE. 331 things to the prisoners ? Their friends. Have they friends within the Federal iinea? Yes, thousands of the kindest, the bravest, the truest, and the best. Where? Every- where ; in city, town and country ; in New York, Phila- delphia, Louisville, Cincinnati, St. Louis, Alexandria, Wash- ington, even in Southern-hating, Puritanic Boston; and in glorious Baltimore, the fair- queen of the blue Patapsco. Her daughters, famous as they have ever been for the witch- ery of their personal charms, are destined to be even more renowned for their inextinguishable patriotism, and their warm, active, full, free, and constantly flowing sympathy for the imprisoned and oppressed. But the scene changes. "Here's your mail ! " " here's your mail ! " from a thousand throats, and the Block post- masters rapidly wend their way to Block " One," where the prison mail, the arrival of which is so vociferously pro- claimed, will be opened ; and when they receive it, they will distribute it among the inmates of their respective Blocks. This distribution will be attended with the same excitement, the same manifestations of hope and disap- pointment, that marked the calling of the Express list. Then they wanted packages and boxes; now they want letters from the "loved ones at home.'' I shall not at- tempt to depict more minutely the phase of prison life presented on an occasion of this kind, but advise you, if you can lay your hand on it, to read a thrilling sketch of this scene, entitled " Here's your Mail ! " written by Lieutenant Howard C. Wright, of Louisiana, an occupant of Block "Eleven." What is that? " Come and draw your rations! " Well let us go. The officer who is on that duty for our mess to- day will draw ours. You ask if one man can carry the ra- tions for the eighty occupants of our room. Two can easi- ly do so. They are not likely to be heavy; only a little baker's bread, some salt-beef, or, in its stead, a few salt- fish, too poor to fry themselves. Perhaps we shall draw 332 TWENTY-FOUR HOURS OF FEDERAL PRISON LIFE. codfish, in which case I shall fast. Codfish would make a- good fertilizer for worn-out lands, but I cannot believe they were ever designed for human food. It cannot be that the Creator, in His goodness and wisdom, ever in- vested anything intended for the human stomach, with a stench so intolerably putrescent as that of the codfish. A man may so torture and pervert his taste as to relish cod- fish, just as Chinamen relish the flesh of puppies, and Cali- fornia Indians that of skunks and grasshoppers; but nat- urally, nothing excej^t birds and beast of carrion-eating propensities, relish such abominations. Like many other odious things of the present age, the eating of codfish is of New England origin, and I have no doubt the first morsel that ever offended a human palate, was devoured by Miles Standish and his followers, on Plymouth Eock. "Will we get any vegetables?" Oh no, we drew them yesterday — one potato and an onion apiece, for eight days. '' Sugar and coffee ? " Why sir, I have been here ten months, and not an ounce, or a grain of either have I known to be issued to the prisoners. For three or four months of my imprisonment, we were not allowed to buy at the Sutler's, nor to receive boxes containing provisions forwarded by our friends, unless the "permit" of the Fed- eral Surgeon, peevishly and stingily granted, were found, inside. " How did we manage to live ? " Well, you know that the Children of Israel were, at one period in their journey from Egypt to the Land of Canaan, supplied with showers of quails ; we were scarcely less fortunate, in being supplied with droves of rats ! Well, as the rations have been distributed, this spot has lost its interest, so we will continue our stroll. Here is a Chair Factory. This man saves every tough and straight stick of wood that he can lay hold upon, and converts the same into the legs, backs and arms of chairs, which, when put together, he sells to the prisoners. The seats are made from strips of leather, bark, tough wood, or scraps of half-worn clothing. TWENTY-FOUR HOURS OF FEDERAL PRISON LIFE. 333 Now let us cross to yon Block. Here is a tailor busily employed at bis trade ; and bere, again, is a sboeraaker. He is allowed to receive leather, for it is Governmental economy, but be is not allowed to make boots, only sboes. Boots are contraband, and should a friend send you a pair, tbey would be carried outside. I can't undertake to say what would be done with them there. I suppose some- body might be found whom they would fit. Perhaps they would be sold for the benefit of the U. S. Government. I only know that hundreds of pairs have been thus taken from the prisoners here. Here is a law-student : visions of an office crowded with clients, with plethoric purses, wbile bills, declarations, answers, &c., lie scattered thickly around, flit before his imagination. And there is a stu- dent of medicine, whose pills may be destined to kill more men than any battery of artillery now thundering around the beleaguered cities of Eichmond and Petersburg. Here is another of dentistry: and still another preparing bim- self for the most exalted of all stations — the ministry. Here is a school of the " old field " pattern, wbere only the elementary branches are taught, and there goes a teacber of a class in the dead languages and the higher branches of mathematics. We must be careful as we pass on, not to interrupt that game of base-ball, nor yon cricket match, nor those quoit pitchers. Base-ball, cricket, and quoits are not the only amusements in which the prisoners indulge themselves. We have a company of amateur actors, known as the ''Eebellonians," who occasionally furnish entertainments of a dramatic character, w4iich are sure to be liberally pa- tronized. The pieces are original, the writers being pris- oners with fine literary attainments, and the style of the *' Eebellonian " performances would do no discredit to the boards of a first-class theatre. In many of the stage plays, as well as at our dancing parties, the opposite sex is represented by the most youth- 334 TWENTY-FOUR HOURS OF FEDERAL PRISON LIFE. ful and femininely featured prisoners, disguised in appro- priate toggerj-, for the introduction of which we are in- debted to Yankee cupidity, which is ever ready to turn any thing to account that promises to yield a penny. It is surprising, as well as amusing, to observe how success- fully the ladies are imitated, not only in the arrangement and completeness of their outfit, the grace with which it is worn, and the advantageous display of certain personal charms, but also in that coyness and diffidence which so powerfully attract our sex. It is easy for men who have not spoken to, nor heard the low soft voice of woman for eighteen months or two years, to work their imaginations to the point of faith in the actual femininity of an ideal. Miss Florence Harrison, the brunette, or Miss Kate Hay- ward, the blonde^ when so artfully disguised, and the re- sult on the one hand, is all the gallantry and difference, and on the other, all the amiability and condescension, that mark the bearing of sexes toward each other, in the most aristocratic and refined society. Here is a Confederate cap manufactory. Look at that article — a neater and better one than you could buy in "Dixie" for twenty times the money asked for it here. He gets them up out of cast-off uniforms, selecting a sound piece of cloth, here and there, until the garment only hangs together by strips. He makes a great many. You may see them all over the prison. The knife he is using, in lieu of a pair of scissors, was made in Block " Twelve," by an ingenious and eccentric character from one of the border counties of Western Missouri, who goes into every block and room with the enquiry, shouted at the top of his voice: "Gentlemen, hev you any demned old files?" mean- ing files worn out by the manufacturers of prison jewelry, who are counted by hundreds. We see them everywhere, sawing, filing and polishing finger-rings, necklaces, breast- pins and bracelets, all made of gutta percha, and set with sea shell, pearl, silver or gold. Many of these trinkets are TWENTY-FOUR HOURS OF FEDERAL PRISON LIFE. 335 very beautiful, exhibiting both ingenuity and skill, of a high order; and few men can be found here who have not tried their hand upon one or another of the articles named. They are sent throughout the United States, to the kind ladies who contributed so much to our comfort, and many are carefully preserved to be carried home to mothers, wives, sisters and sweethearts. But who would dream of a photograph gallery being car- ried on in such a place as this ? Nevertheless, there il one here, in full blast. In the gable end of Block " Three," you will perceive a small opening, made by removing a portion of the weather-boarding. The gallery is there, and the artist manufactured his own apparatus. His operations are unknown to the Federals, who, otherwise, might cause him to " shut up shop." An entrance to the gallery is effected by means of a hole in the ceiling of the upper story, the visitor pulling up the ladder after him- He always keeps some friend on the qui vive for the ap- proach of '' blue jackets." He gets off quite a creditable picture; and as almost every prisoner desires to take away a specimen of his work as a memento, and his char- ges are moderate, it is quite certain that he will soon have a plethoric purse ; for, although we were searched before we were "turned in," and all the money that was found on our persons taken from us, and that sent us no letters by friends, is retained on the outside; still, many succeed in concealing their ''greenbacks" so effectually, as to elude even Yankee vigilance. If you would rather have a portrait than a photograph, we will call on our old friend from St. Louis, who, with an ordinary lead pencil, will furnish you with a tolerably cor- rect picture. He has been here a long time, has taken hundreds, and his price is only fifty cents. Would you like to have the initials of your wife's name, or some motto or device engraved on the finger-ring you purchased in Block '^ Five " ? if so, we will go to Block 336 TWENTY-FOUR HOURS OF FEDERAL PRISON LIFE. " Two," where we will find a wealthy planter from Missis sippi, who follows that business. He will charge two cents per letter, and his work will compare favorably with the best job that can be "turned off" in Baltimore. The man that has just passed us, carrying several old canteens, is our tinner. His shop is in Block "Thirteen." He is a very useful member of our community. Out of canteens, oyster and fruit cans, he manufactures tin cups, and various other curiously formed cooking vessels, for which, even in prison vocabulary, no name has been found, and repairs coffee-pots. I am getting together material for a prison w^ork; uncertain when I shall be exchanged, and fearing that my manuscript may be pronounced contra- band, and taken from me when I start, I have employed him to put a false bottom, which shall be water-proof, in my canteen, where it, together with many small articles, such as needles, pins, silk-thread, &c., so much needed in Dixie, will be concealed. In the Block on our left, is a prisoner who manufactures chess-men. You may be curious to know how he turns them. There is a man in Block '• Four," who has erected a turning-lathe; he is patronized by the chess-men maker, the chair-maker, and the can-maker. What is the meaning of this : " In Memory of," &c. ? These are boards intended to mark the graves of Confed- erate officers who may die in this prison. They are made and lettered by Confederates, and the work is neatly done. Our cemetery, containing about a fourth of an acre, enclosed with a neat and substantial plank fence, white-washed, and the graves carefully sodded, all the work of our own hands, is located at the eastern extremity of the Island. There reposes the dust of some three hundred of our coun- trymen. We bury our own dead, and on such occasions, like our working parties, we are always attended by a suf- ficient guard. The idea of dying and being buried on this lone Island is especially distasteful to us all. The desire TWENTY-FOUR HOURS OF FEDERAL PRISON LIFE. 337 to breathe our last at home, surrounded by those we best love, and to be laid away by their tender and careful hands, and to have them plant flowers upon our graves, and bedew them with the tears of affection, is as natural as it is universal. ''Grape!'' "grape!!" ^'grape!!!" from a thousand tongues! What does it mean? I don't know the orio-in of the term " grape," as used in this connection. You perceive, however, that it throws the prison into excite- ment, and that scores of men are wildly rushing towards the prison bulletin-board, against which a " Yank," who has just come in, is tacking a piece of paper. It means, as used here, news from the outside. Perhaps this is an announcement of a great battle, or that in which all feel, if possible, a still deejDcr interest — an exchange of prison- ers. The probability is, however, it is nothing more than some unimportant prison order, regulation or requirement. Yes, it is the latter; for see, the crowd is already dispers- ing with disappointment plainly marked upon the faces of all. The question " Is there any grape ? " or " Have you heard the late grape ? " is constantly going around. Like the curious Athenians, rebuked by Paul, we are always anx- ious to hear some " new thing." Nor is this singular, con- sidering our lonely and isolated condition, and the stirring events daily transpiring in the outside world — events which we are powerless to affect either one way or anoth- er, but in which we have such deep personal interests. But see, there is something like a " row " at Block "Elev- en," and one man is receiving rough treatment. That is what we term a " kicking out." The recipient of the kicks has applied to Col. Hill for permission to take the oath of al- legiance to the U. S. Government, or, in prison phraseology, he has "gone back on the Confederacy," and his messmates having discovered his treachery, are summarily ejecting him from their quarters. He will be certain to complain to the authorities, when a file of soldiers will be marched in, and he 15 338 TWENTT-FOUR HOURS OF FEDERAL PRISON LIFE. will be reio stated; but as soon as the bayonets are withdrawn, he will be again •' kicked out," till finally, sore from kick- ing, spit on and despised, as he deserves to be, his very life will become a burden, and he will plead to be placed in that little building, standing between the " dead line " and the prison wall, where two poor fellows under sentence of death or imprisonment for life, as bushwhackers or spies, have been confined for more than eighteen months. From this time forward, he will not be recognized by any Con- federate in this prison. His former friends will not speak to him, nor allow him to speak to them. Every hand will be against him ; every tongue will hiss at him ; every heart will loath him. Even the Federals, whom he seeks to propitiate, will regard him with illy concealed scorn and contempt. And why is this? Not because, from principle, he has taken this step, for in that there would be something worthy of commendation rather than cen- sure ; but because, they have reason to believe, it was the result of the absence of all principle. Because, they be- lieved, he had not the manhood to endure imprisonment, with its privations and suffering, for a cause, that, in his heart, he believes is just; but chose rather to take a solemn oath — an oath that he is too cowardly to perform — to support a cause that he believes is wrong. There are two men using a patent clothes washer and wringer : it belongs to them, and they are making it pay, notwithstanding there are at least fifty washer-men in the prison. You would be astonished to see how neatly these men wash and do up, even the finest linen. There are gentlemen here, who, at home, have thousands of broad acres, and can command thousands of dollars, actually en- gaged in the menial drudgery of cooking, washing and wood-sawing for others, who, in Dixie, could with difficulty obtain credit for a trifling sum. The first class have no acquaintances within the Federal lines to whom they can apply for relief ; the second class have, and hence they have plenty of funds. TWENTY-FOUR HOURS OF FEDERAL PRISON LIFE. 339 That large building, about 200 feet in length, 40 feet in breadth, and two stories in height, is the Prison Hospital. It is divided into four wards, and is always crowded with patients. It is kept so scrupulously neat, and is so free from the confusion and uproar incident to the other blocks, that it is almost a luxury to be sick enough to entitle you to admission. The patients are treated by none but Confederate physicians, of whem there are quite a goodly number in prison. These gentlemen are untiring in the discharge of their voluntarily assumed, and, so far as money is concerned, unrequited labors. Their conduct is worthy the highest commendation. The medicines used, are sup- plied by. the United States Government, but most of the delicacies used to tempt the appetites of the sick, by con- tributions from their fellow-prisoners. In this Hospital we find a beautiful exemplification of the virtues of Free Masonry. There are many members of the Order in the prison. These are thoroughly organized, and not only supply the sick with many delicate and tempting articles of food, but furnish constant details for hospital service as nurses, &c., who are instructed not to confine their minis- trations to their brethren, but to extend them to others, whenever they can do so, without prejudicing the comfort of those who have no especial claim upon their attention. That little building in rear of the hospital, is the "Prison Dead-House, where Few mourners come to weep ! " It is seldom without a pale and pulseless inmate. You have noticed. In passing, one or more little stands or tables, in each block, on which butter, flour, sugar, cof- fee and vegetables were exposed for sale. The men en- gaged in this business, are known as sub-sutlers. They are Confederates, and sell for the chief, or Yankee Sutler, on commission. And just here, I may remark, that the privilege of acting as sutler to this prison is very profita- 340 TWENTY-FOUR HOURS OF FEDERAL PRISON LIFE. ble. His profits for one year must amount to a handsome fortune. Half a dozen assistants are constantly busy waiting on customers, and the percentage realized is enor- mous. Three or four prices are charged for every thing that is sold, and his money can be turned over every day. The amount of money forwarded to prisoners is enormous, averaging, probably, five thousand dollars per week. Nearly the whole of this goes into the pocket of the sut- ler, prison rations being not only sadly inadequate in quantity, but, with the exception of the bread, against which, as a general rule, no complaint can be made, highly objectionable in quality. But I see our cook beckoning us to dinner. -Having dined, we will now fill our pipes and indulge a whiff of the weed. The number of prisoners who abstain from the use of tobacco in some form, is very small. The soothing effects of the narcotic upon the mind, and the want of bet- ter employment, is the secret of this habit. This morning your attention was drawn to the Inrge proportion of prisoners engaged in writing. They were writing letters. Each prisoner may write two letters per week, being careful to confine himself to one page of com- mon size letter j^aper. At one period since my arrival, we were allowed to write one letter daily, and as at least one- third of the prisoners wrote each day, from five to seven thousand letters were mailed per week. This number per week has not been materially diminished by the existing restriction, for almost every man writes two letters, and there are upwards of three thousand officers confined here. Some write as many letters as they wish, each mail. This is accomplished by changing chirography, and bor- rowing the names of such of our acquaintances as do not wish to write. You will be curious to know how those to whom such letters written in a strange hand, over a strange name, comprehend the actual author. This diffi- culty is readily overcome by some familiar allusion which serves as a key to unlock the mystery of authorship. TWENTY-FOUR HOURS OF FEDERAL PRISON LIFE. 341 " To whom do wc write so many letters?" To home- folks in " Dixie," and to persons throughout the United States, especially to our female relatives. Since the pro- mulgation of the order prohibiting our receiving " aid and comfort " from any but relatives, we have discovered that we are akin to all the ladies of rebellious proclivities, in the country. They are our " sisters," " aunts," " cousins," and " grand-mothers," while we suddenly find ourselves the " brothers," " nephews," " cousins " and even " grand- sires " of hundreds of the purest, loveliest and most kind- hearted beings in the " wide, wide world." It is remark- able, that prior to our imprisonment, we had entirely lost sight of so many of our kinsfolk, with whom, according to their story, and our suddenly revived recollections, we played " hide and go seek " in our childhood, or whose cra- dle lullabies soothed to peaceful slumber the fretfulness of infancy. It is said that, a few weeks ago, an officer solicited an interview with the Commandant of the Prison. Is was granted. "Well, sir," said that Federal official, "what can I do for you ? " " Why, Col. Hill, I feel that a change of diet would be of great benefit, and I desire permission to make some purchases in Sandusky ; a little sugar, coffee, cheese, a box or two of sardines, some pickles, canned fruits, &c., you know." " Why don't you get a permit to apply to a relative for these articles ? you know it would be a violation of the existing order, to allow you to obtain them from any other source? " "I am aware of that fact. Colonel, but you will under- stand that I have no relative within the Federal lines." " No relatives within the Federal lines ! Why, how long have you been here?" *' About nine months, Colonel." " What ! Been here nine months and found no relative 342 TWENTY-FOUR HOURS OF FEDERAL PRISON LIFE. in all that time ? AVhy, had I been in your place, Captain, I would have discovered at least a dozen in half the time. Go back and retrospect your boyhood, and I am confident you will find that you have a sister, or brother, or aunt, or uncle, or cousin, or grandfather, somewhere within our lines ! '^ It is needless to add that the Captain took the hint, and that his larder was soon supplied with the desired luxu- ries. I will not vouch for the truth of this anecdote, but as the Commandant is, in my opinion, a gentleman of gen- erous impulses, I am strongly inclined to give it full credit. We do not feel that Heaven frowns upon a "pious fraud " like this ; while the spirit of romance attending a correspondence of this character, is positively enchanting. Doubtless, through such a channel, tender and peculiar hopes have been already awakened, and the origin of many a joyous bridalj " when this cruel war is over," may be traced to prison correspondence. Gratitude is closely al- lied to love ; and no portion of a woman's life is so lovea- ble as that devoted to the relief of human suffering. The voice that speaks of loved ones far away, is ever burdened with melody ; the form that bends over the couch of the invalid, is ever graceful ; the hand that bathes the fever- throbbing temple is ever soft ; the bosom that pillows the aching head is ever affectionate and true, and the tear of sympathy never fails to brighten, with an angelic radiance, even the dullest eye. I ought to have taken you to our libraries. We have two : one of these is a miscellaneous library, and is an in- dividual enterprise ; the other is composed of religious works exclusively, and belongs to the "Young Men's Christian Association". Each contains some five or six hundred volumes. Prisoners are in constant receipt of books, from their friends, which, having read, they take to the one or the other of these libraries, as the fitness of things may require, and trade them for the loan of other TWENTY-FOUR HOURS OF FEDERAL PRISON LIFE. 343 books which they have not read. Again, donations of books are occasionally made to the library of the "Young Men's Christian Association." In these and other ways, these libraries have been built up. The prisoner who owns the Miscellaneous Library, is making money by letting out his books to his fellows. Ko charge is made for the use of the books of the library of the Christian Association, except barely enough to defray some trivial incidental expenses. There are many pious men among us, including some learned and eloquent divines. In fair weather, these gen- tlemen preach in the open air, and never lack for large and attentive congregations. "W e never fail to have preach- ing on the Sabbath, and, generally, twice or thrice during the week. Beside, we have Union Prayer-meetings, Bible classes, and Sabbath schools. The spiritual interests of the sick are not neglected, for religious services are held twice a week, in the Hospital. Prisoners are frequently converted and received into the denomination of their choice. I am happy to say that denominational prejudices here, are not strong. We have a Federal chaplain, but his office is that of a sinecure. He seldom attempts to preach; and even when he does, few, very few, attend. Tour attention wag attracted to the various squads of prisoners engaged at games of cards, dominoes, back-gam- mon, dice, chess, &c. Many of the prisoners devote all their time to gaming, hardly pausing to eat; and here, as in the outside world, gambling is attended with cheating and profanity. Large sums are lost and won ; sometimes the stakes are "greenback," sometimes Confederate cur- rency, and, not unfrequently, written promises to pay at some future- day whea the parties return to the Southern Confederacy. Drunkenness, however, is a vice almost unknown in prison. There are scores of men here who, though often inebriated prior to their incarceration, have not tasted a 344 TWENTY-FOUR HOURS Or FEDERAL PRISON LIFE. drop of liquor since. Why? Because they can't get it. Many bottles of old bourbon, and cognac, and claret, and charapagne are sent here by friends, but those for whom they were designed, are merely tantalized by a sight, and then, being numbered among " contraband '■* articles, they are sent out again. I don't know what goes with all those fine liquors — don't know who drinks them, on the outside; in fact, don't know whether they are drank there, at all ; but I do know they never come back again. I am not a drinking man, never was, hope I will never be; but still, I think I can imagine, somewhat, the torture endured by a man who, fond of a "smile" — and not having indulged in that luxury, so much as once, for a period of eighteen weary months, or two years — sees the bead-covered beverage, which by every rule of justice is his, taken away, while he pleads in most earnest and pathetic tones for ^'just one taste,'^ and that being denied, frantically implores the tantalizing boon of smelling the " stopper," only to be denied again. It would be carr^nng the idea of human compassion 'very far to suppose that such a man, once exchanged and returned to the battle-, field, would, under any conceivable state of things, spare a Yankee. The police regulations of the prison are complete. They are enforced by details, each day, from the different blocks. Each block has its regularly elected chief, whose orders are strictly obeyed; hence, the cleanliness of our quarters and the prison grounds, generally. Last Fall, one hundred Confederate privates were sent here from Camp ChasQj to do our policing. As soon as they arrived, and we learned for what purpose, we assured them that it was without our seeking, and urged them to positively refuse to play so menial a part. They did refuse, though brought out several times by Federal Corporals, and, finally, the project was abandoned. Having finished our "smoke," we will walk out again. TWENTY-FOUR HOURS OF FEDERAL PRISON LIFE. 345 Do you observe that Confederate officer on the platform of the stairs of Block " One" ? He is looking through a glass, very intently, at some object, just on the outside, and it is evident that he is laboring under strong excitement. We will go up. Ah! the thing is explained. There is a beautiful lady over there, some forty or fifty paces from the prison wall. She has a glass directed towards him. — See, she removes the glass and applies her handkerchief to her eyes. She is weeping. Come away, there is some- thing too sacred in this for third parties ; and my own heart is aching, and my own eyes are filling. I too have a wife, *' away down South," who, though she were to travel alone, a thousand miles to reach Johnson's Island, as that man's wife has, would not be allowed to exchange one poor little word with me, or even to make one sign with her hand, though we had been separated twice twelve long and weary months ; aye, though I lay on my hard bunk breathing my last, and she went down on her knees and prayed and im- plored to be allowed to come in, that she might give one last clasp to my wasted hand, and press one last kiss upon my fever- parched lips, and then return broken-hearted, widowed, and desolate, — that petition, however moved by it the Commandant of the prison might and would be, could not be granted without the assent of a superior of- ficer far away; — perhaps asleep and unwilling to be dis- turbed; perhaps attending a Presidential levee, or a Sena- torial ball, or an oyster supper, or a wine party given by some vulgar upstart Shoddycrat; and even when found, perhaps refusing to attend to any business outside office hours, and then only such as might jDresent itself attended by all the formal tomfooleries of " red-tape " ! I ought to take you to our Lyceum, but as the discus- sion is probably half gone through with ere this, and as the Island steamer is now nearing the landing, we will re- main just here, and see whether there are any prisoners aboard. Ah ! do you hear that cry of " Fresh fish, fresh 15* 346 TWENTY-FOUR HOURS OF FEDERAL PRISON LIFE. fish ! " from the men standing on the stairs of Blocks " One" and " Two," watching the approach of the boat? That cry always announces the coming of a new squad of our countrymen, whom the uncertain chances of war have doomed to a lingering captivity. See, the boat has touch- ed the pier, and the " grey jackets," accompanied by a strong guard, are filing off, and marching up the lawn to- ward the residence of the prison commandant. J^ow they are halted and " fronted." l^ow their names, rank. State, regiment, place and date of capture, &c., are being record- ed, after which they will be searched for weapons, money, &c., and then they will be marched m. Observe how intense the excitement among the old res- identers. Three-fourths of them have already arranged themselves in two long lines, facing inward, extending on each side of Main street, nearly three hundred yards. Il^ow the gate opens, and with clothes soiled, faded and torn, covered with dust, and in many cases, stained with blood, they sweep inward and onward. Now the singular cry that announced their approach to the Island, swells in volume, until it rolls like a mighty billow of human voices over the vast and motley throng. The new-comers are sadly disappointed. Where they expected expressions of sympathy, they find, what seems to them, heartless ridi- cule and derision. As soon, however, as they cross the " dead line " and enter the space between the long lines of faces, the strange and ofl'ensive cry is succeeded by such questions as, " Where were you captured ? " " To what command did you belong?" "How many of you there?" while here and there mutual recognitions occur, succeeded by hearty shaking of hands, accompanied by exclamations of surprise and delight, and the poor tired fellows are literally dragged, neck and heels, away to hos- pitable quarters, where new robes are brought forth, and pino-s — gutta-percha — put on their fingers, and fatted calves slain, and where there is feasting and dancing. TWENTY-FOUR HOURS OF FEDERAL PRISON LIFE. 347 Those, however, who have no acquaintances among the old prisoners, do not fare so well. The Federals do not assign them special quarters. Once inside, they are turned loose to shift for themselves. They feel very lonely, though in the midst of hundreds of their fellow countrymen. They soon begin to realize that they must look out for " number one." All are sorry for them — few sorry enough to help them, for men are as selfish in prison, perhaps more so than any- where else. All the surroundings of prison life tend to develop and nourish this hateful principle. If there is a mean strer.k in a man, prison life will disclose it. They wander from block to block, from room to room, inquiring " Is this Block filled? " " Is there a vacant bunk in this room? " almost everywhere receiving the answers : "Yes, this room will not hold any more ! " " No, there is no va- cant bunk here ! " They look with dissatisfied counten- ances at the size of the rooms, and seem to be comjoaring that with the number of occupants. They cast their eyes along the walls on either side, and they discover that places where bunks once stood are now vacant, or nearly so. The scales begin to fall from their eyes; they begin to " see men as trees walking." They congregate in knots and compare notes, and the conclusion is, that the old prisoners are not disposed to do the fair thing. At this stage of the game, some good-hearted man steps up and assures them there is plenty of room ; that bunks in cer- tain Blocks have been cut down ,and burned up by the pris- oners, to keep others from coming in ; and winds up, by counselling them to go and take possession of all places from which bunks have been removed, and call in the Yankee carpenter to replace them with new ones. This settles the matter. Their " metal " is now up. They walk in and assert their rights, which are surlily admitted ; and within the next forty-eight hours, new bunks are erected and they have a home; and within less than one month, the new-comers will be bawling " Fresh Fish " as loudly 348 TWENTY-FOUR HOURS OF FEDERAL PRISON LIFE. as any, and as readily and stoutly denying that there ie room in their Blocks for so much as another man. Hark! the drum is beating to quarters, so we must go in ; but first cast your eye over the grounds and see how the vast multitude which for the last two hours has been promenading Xain street, the cross streets and alleys, is scattering in all directions, each man making for his own Block. Now all have disappeared. The grounds which but a moment ago, resounded with a thousand foot-falls, and echoed to a thousand voices, is now as silent and lonely as an Arabian desert. We must not attempt to pass from one Block to another until after reveille to-morrow morning. It would be con- trary to orders, and we might be shot. And if we were, we would deserve no sympathy ; no man, who needlessly and wilfully encounters danger, knowing the probable consequences of his folly, is entitled to sympathy. So we will sit here in our room and converse until we grow sleepy, but not beyond "tajys" and the cry of "Lights OUT ! " or a minie ball may come splintering through the walk Indeed we are not always safe here, even when we strictly observe the rules of the Prison. In proof of this, I need only mention an occurrence that came immediate- ly under my own observation. Not long since, after the lights were extinguished and perfect quiet reigned in our room, in Block "Five," a ball entered, and broke a bone in the arm of Lieutenant Dillard, of Mississippi, who was passing along towards his bunk, and badly wounding Lieutenant Inman, of North Carolina, while he was sleep- ing soundly. This affair created some excitement, even among the Federal officers, and we supposed the offender would be punished, but, so far as we know, nothing was done. " Taps " ! There it is — " Lights out ! " be quick ! The day is over, and you know something of prison life at COL. AV. W. FONTAINE, OF VIRGINIA. 349 Johnson's Island, You have learned that we are a com- munity within ourselves; that we present an epitome of a great city, with its schools, libraries and theatres ; its literary and religious associations ; its professional men ; its teachers ; its ministers ; its students ; its merchants ; its artizans ; its mechanics ; its gamblers ; its loafers ; its sanitary regulations ; its charitable institutions ; its vir- tues and vices ; its pleasures and pains; its joys and sor- rows; its living and its dead. Now for sweet dreams of liberty, and love, and home. Good Night ! C0I. Wi- Wixix^imx i,oix\mnt, oi §irgmm. Col. W. Winston Fontaine, of Virginia, was bora at Montville, King William county, Va., on November 27th, 1834. His father. Col. William Spottswood Fontaine, is of Huguenot extraction on the paternal side, be- ing a descendant of John de la Fontaine, a French nobleman and officer in the household of Francis I. On the maternal side, Col. Fontaine (the father) is the great grandson of Sir Alexander Spottswood. His wife (mother of Col. Fontaine) is a lineal descendant of Thomas West, Lord Delaware, and a grand-daughter of Patrick Henry. Col: Fontaine has, consequently, a lineage especially notable, and the blood of three distin- guished Governors of Virginia flowed in his veins. He received a military education at the Rumford Military Academy, and subsequently studied at the University of Virginia. After leaving college he commenced teaching, and, at the commencement of the war, was a Professor in the Pegram School, at Richmond. On the 25th of April, 1861, he entered the Confed- erate service, in the Richmond Fayette Artillery, and on the evening of the same day, married Mary, only daughter of Rev. J. L. Burrows, D.D., of Richmond. He held, subsequently, the positions of 1st Lieutenant, 350 VIRGINIA DESOLATE. Henrico Artillery, Col. George "W. Randolph ; Captain of Cavalry, in the Virginia State Line ; volunteer aid to Gen. Stuart, in the Seven Days' battles before Richmond; Col. of Cavalry, under Gen. Floyd, in South- western Virginia and elsewhere, until the disbandment of the State Line troops ; 1st Lieutenant of Cavalry, C. S. A., and drill-master to the 46th Battalion Virginia Cavalry, Jackson's Brigade. He was captured, while on a scout, near Martinsburg, on the 16th of September, 1864, and taken to Johnson's Island, where he remained till June 16th, 1865. He is now the highly respected and popular Principal of the Young Ladies' Seminary, at Fredericksburg, Va., and has lately (July, 1866) received peculiarly flattering endorsements from many of the leading citizens of that town and county. Col. Fontaine is a somewhat voluminous writer, especially of poetry, and will no doubt be, at an early day, better known in the world of letters, through a published collection, of which the few articles from his pen here given, can only afford a pleasant foretaste. YIEGINIA DESOLATE. O Yirginia, fair Yirginia, queen of all our sunny land, Of the warlike Southern sisters, thou the chosen of the band. Thou didst pledge us, royal sister! tho' thy pledge was not in wine, And the rivers ran all crimsoned with that deep, dark pledge of thine. Here we crown thee in thy sorrow : thou hast bowed be- neath the rod, While the foemen o'er thy teeming fields relentlessly have trod. Thy homesteads lie in ruins, and thj daughters wander far, And thy sons, amid the foremost ranks, have borne the brunt of war. Upon thy haught}^ heraldry, thy proud and high archives, In their blood their names immortal are written on those leaves. O Yirginia ! fair Yirginia ! unpolluted be thy soil. Beneath it many a soldier-heart hath rested from its toil. VIRGINIA DESOLATE. 351 From the mountains to thy waters, that meet the deep, dark main, Thy plains smile green and fertile with the life-blood of our slain; The breeze that sweeps the hill-side, bearing Southward to the sea, Hath a moan upon its murmuring — a requiem for thee I And we waft thee on a summer's wind, a bleeding sister's sigh, For her gallant sons, who on thy plains have lain them down to die. So in our hearts we shrine thee, and we crown thy regal brow : O, queen, our sons sleep on thy breast ! a fond, fond mother, thou ! 'Tis mid May in our sunny land — our land of love and flowers, Growing wildly in our woodlands, woven deftly in our bowers. And our dark-eyed maids go tripping, tripping lightly o'er the green — Gorgeous skies and silver streamlets, all bedazzling in their sheen, In the cup of red wine sparkling, yet, yet, I cannot sip, For the tears have gathered in mine eyes as I press it to my lip ; And my heart goes back in yearning over land and over sea — Ah ! the lips are cold and silent that pledged this cup with me. And thus, O, fair Virginia ! when the golden hours flit by. We mourn for those who on thy fields have lain them down to die. 352 IN MEMORIAM ^TERNAM. Jn Ht-cmoriam §.^t^nTcjm — gin ^xoilm- BY COL. B. H. JONES. When first the clarion blast of civil war Broke on the stillness of the mountain height ; It fell upon your young and eager ear, And roused you for the fratricidal fight. Though young in years, yours was a valiant soul ; Modest in mien, yours was a lion's heart ; Your name's inscribed on glory's shining roll, For it was yours to act a patriot part. " Where ^Nongahela's limpid waters rise, And where the orange and the fig-tree grow, Fight for our homes and for our native skies, 'Long as one Southron's blood remains to flow. Such were your words of lofty, manly cheer, That sought me far 'neath Carolina's pines; And such the words that should for you uj)rear, One beautiful amid the patriot shrines. And well didst you, the glorious lesson teach, By precept and example valorous well ; For you were foremost in the deadly breach, And 'neath your torn and streaming ensign fell. For Death, who ever loves a mark of flame. Made you a target for his fate-winged dart; And sadly certain was the Circher aim, That stilled the beatings of your youthful heart. 'Twas mete, my boy, that you should thus resign, Your young life at Virginia's touching cry ; IN MEMORIAM ^TERNAM. 353 Should'st freely pour your heart's libation wine, And in the foremost rank of freedom die. Yet it was sad that in your dying hour, You saw confusion and the beaten rout. Saw clouds upon your favorite banner lower. And heard the exultant foeman's triumj)h shout. And all uncared for on that bloody day. Were you, my brother, on that field afar ; ISTo gentle woman knelt by you to pray, Nor smoothed the tangles of your clotted hair. No friendly hand didst bear you to your tomb, ISTo cry of anguish uttered there no grief; No roses scattered — no violets bloom, To typify a life so true and brief. But stranger hands did rudely dig your grave, And foeman jested, as your corse they threw. With blood and dust begrimed among the brave. Who died with you, the dutiful and true. Yet, there are those who will forever keep Your memory green — will often drop the tear Of love and friendship on your dreamless sleep, And strew, with flowers sweet, your hallowed bier, Farewell, my brother, youngest, most beloved 1 The battle shout shall stir your blood no more ; Your course by God — your country — all — approved, Eest you in peace, your soldier toils are o'er. Johnson's liland, July 8th, 1865. 354 I AM COMING, ella! f am Coming, 6IIa! BY ADJUTANT JOHN U. SHERTER. I AM coming, Ella, coming, Though the moment still be far ; Yet the prison gates will open. And sweet peace succeed stern war. In my fancy's flight I see you Standing by your cottage door, — Hoping, waiting for the moment That's to join as evermore. I am coming, Ella, coming, Drive the sorrow from your cheek I Have the words upon your lips — The loving words you used to speak. Dash the trembling tears that sparkle. From your soft and loving eye. And let smother ere it pain you — That fair bosom's rising sigh. I am coming, Ella, coming, Though the night be long and drear ; Stealing through the mists of morning, The day-god's beams announce him near. Now I touch your tender hand, And feel your warm breath on my cheek ; And I hear with soul enraptured, Loving accents when you speak. Do I wake, or am I dreaming ? Is your voice the sound I hear ? Xo, it is the lake's sad moan That floats in murmurs on my ear; LISTENING. 355 And the vision of your form melts 'Neath the dewy morning light — Passing through the vale of dreams With all the shadows of the night. yist^nhtg. BY LIEUTENANT E. C. MCCARTHY. Under the evening shadows, Ere the long day was done, Dreamily in the gloaming, After the set of the sun, — Lingered a maiden, sadly ; Tears in her drooping eye ; Listening to memories holy, — Thoughts of the days gone by. There, in the golden twilight, Often the lovers met. Plighted their vows together. How can she e'er forget ? Though now dread war has severed Lover and maid afar ; At eve their eyes together. Follow one beaming star ! And while her heart was throbbing- Throbbing with grief and fear ; Up to the God of battles, Wildly she breathed a prayer ; 356 VIDI AMI PLORARE. *' Save him. Almighty Father ! Let him be watched by Thee ; Save him unto his country — Save him for home and me ! " Softly, a step came near her — G-ently his shadow fell ; He clasj)ed her — murmured " darling ! " Easy the rest to tell. There, in the mellow twilight — Joy in each beaming eye — Listening to memories holy, How swiftly the moments fly ! ^ibt i^mi ^l0ran. BY LIEUTENANT J. E. DOOLES. Methinks 1 see him even now, — His smiling lips and soft blue eyes ; His blooming cheeks with blushes glow, That from his heart incessant rise. I hear the soft tones of his voice ; The music of his laugh still rings ; I see his dancing orbs rejoice, In light as pure as Phoebus brings. Ne'er stoops to wrong his soul sublime ; His open heart is ever best With freedom from the slightest crime - The friend to others when opprest. THE HERO WITHOUT A NAME. 357 He died 'mid strangers on the field Of Gettysburg ; his dying hour Disturbed by booming guns that pealed, To taunt him with the victor's power. No power so great as that of death, Save that which G-od Himself engrafts In earth-born sons, whose final breath, The immortal soul to heaven wafts. ^l^t^^txa foiiljatti vc pame* BY COL. W. S. HAWKINS. I LOVED when a child to seek the page "Where goodly tales of War are told, And to dream of the might of a better age, And the swarthy King of old, When men for virtue and honor fought, In serried pride, 'neath their pennants bright, By the fairy hands of Beauty wrought. And broidered with " God and Eight." With boyish wonder my eyes were wide At the deeds that day in the mountain pass, When the Spartan felled his foeman's pride As the reaper mows the grass. And in thought I beheld gay Sidney ride. His white plume dotting the field's expanse, While Bayard bore down like the swirl of the tide And struck for the Lilies of France. 358 THE HERO WITHOUT A NAME. On the crags of Scotland there I saw, With his hair of golden hue, Montrose, And swarthy Douglas, whose name was awe. In the homes of his English foes. There was TVinkelkeid, first in the martyr fray. And JRupert, the pride of his cavaliers. And Emraett, the Brave, whose tomb to-day Is the shrine of the patriot's tears. These splendid forms were a part of the throng That delighted me, moving in pageantry grand Through the fields of Time and the groves of Song, From the legends of every land ; But I little hoped myself to see A spirit akin to those stately men, IN'or thought that great hearts like theirs could be In a Prison's crowded pen. Yet, 1 saw to-day in the Hospital here A Hero, I fancy, as peerless and grand — A pale-faced boy whose home is where Grlimmer the ripple of Cumberland; On his narrow cot, in a narrow room. Where he hears but the sigh and the prisoner's groan. He lies through the long day's pain and gloom ; Yet he never makes a moan. They hewed him down 'neath the blades of steel As the troopers charged in from the camps of the foe, But he was not killed, although I feel It would have been better so ; For my heart within me is heavy and sad As I sit and hold his wasted hand. And hear him tell how the days were glad In our dear and distant land. There are hours again in his fever's heat THE HERO WITHOUT A NAME. 359 When his restless fancy flies to his home, And he talks of the scythe in the falling wheat, And of reapers that go and come, Of his boyish mates and their frolicsome glee Through the cedar glades and the woodland's dim, And how he carved there on many a tree A name that was dear to him. He talks of the roses, that scatter the lights Through his cottage door and the window panes, While the Autumn's haze is upon the heights And the quiet country lanes ; Of the rivulet's splash, and the song of birds. And the corn-rows standing like men with spears, Of his mother's prayers, and her loving words. Till his cheeks are wet with tears. And I seem to see her as the yellow leaves Are silently falling in the glen. While the swallows come back to the sheltering eaves Where he shall not come again ; Then I rejoice that she cannot see How the blight has stained her boy in his bloom I am glad that her steps will never be Eeside his humble tomb. And I think of another, who watches, too. When the early stars grow bright o'er the hill, Nor knows that his heart, so confiding, so true, Will soon be for ever still. Ah ! many in vain to their hopes will cling Through the dreary morn and the mournful eve But Memory alone shall her solace bring To a thousand hearts that grieve. My comrade will last but a little while. For I see on every succeeding day 360 TO MISS c. p. B. A fainter flush but a sweeter smile Over his features play ; And somehow I think, when our lives are done, That this humble hero without a name, "Will be greater up there than many a one Of the high born men of fame. O, prisoner boy, that I were as near As you are now to that shining shore, Where the waters of life and of love are clear, And weeping shall be no more. It cannot be thus ; yet in God's own time He will call his weary ones home to their rest, And the beautiful angels, with song and with chimo, Shall welcome each mortal guest. ®0 gliss C. f. OF ATHENS, TENNESSEE. BY COL. B. H. JONES. Musing lonely, sadly musing. In my Island prison drear. Sweetly came thy words of comfort, Bravely spoken words of cheer. Came as come the beams of morning, Over Erie's ice-bound rest ; Rousing hope, and faith and patience - New-born in the captive's breast. TOO YOUNG TO DIE. 361 Eve, whose cheek of virgin beauty Lent its tintings to the rose, In the cup of man's transgression, Added solace for his woes. Purest, gentlest of her daughters, Boldly standing for the right ; Athens boasts no richer jewel, Love may claim no crown more bright. Length of days, with bliss o'erflowing, Is the boon I'd ask for thee ; Everlasting life thy portion — Waiting in eternity I Johnson's Island^ July, 1865. C00 Soung to gb» BY JOHN B. SMITH. Among those killed in the disastrous battle before Nashville, in December, 1864, was a beautiful boy-soldief; whose gray uniform, undecorated with any token of rank, marked him as a private in the Confederate army. His face was of wonderful beauty, every feature being as delicate as a woman's, while his form was as symmetrical and graceful as that of an Apollo. Such a youthful victim to the awful horrors of war, was a sacrifice calcu- lated to dim the coldest eye with tears. On the hard fought field, where the battle storm Had echoed its sullen thunder, Lay a soldier-child with the golden thread Of his young life snapp'd asunder. 16 362 TOO YOUNG TO DIE. He had comrades stark, in the great death sleep, Lying cold in their bloody places, But they were bearded men, with stalwart frames, And a man's look on their faces. But the soldier child with his silken locks O'er his smooth, white forehead sweeping, With a horrid wound in his brave young breast, Seem'd too fair for death's grim keeping. For his beardless face, in its calm repose, Bore the mark of Beauty's finger. And his fine, sweet mouth seemed the tempting spot Where a woman's lips would linger. Like slender shadows on the fleecy snow, O'er his cheek crept the fringing lashes Of the white closed lips of his great, grey eyes. All veined with faint azure flashes. O'er the wounded breast with a touching grace, His delicate hands were folded. With a meek, soft clasp, as if for a prayer. Their dying shape was moulded. I thought, as beside this warrior-child Mine own young head was bending, That, perhaps, an angel-mother's prayers Were heavenward then ascending — That the arm of the Father who dwelleth where Sweet peace is never ending, Might be found, in the battle's dreaded hour, Her darling boy defending. I thought how the voice of the false-faced world Would waft her the mournful story. With its pompous words for a healing balm. And its mocking meed of glory. BAY-BLOSSOM COTTAGE. 363 When that mother's heart with its hapless grief Acd its mighty pain was aching, The chaplet Fame is a withered wreath When a mother's heart is breaking. I turned away from the poor dead youth, On his gory pillow sleeping, And a weakness right from a sadden'd heart, Sent tears through my lashes sweeping. ia;g-§l0SS0nt ^oitn^t- BY LIEUT. H. C. WRIGHT. Oh, how dear to the heart are these hours of bliss, Which " Bay-Blossom " e'er brings to my view ! Were they loaned by the Houris from their world to this, As they give us their tears in the dew. Although time has rolled by, still before me they seem, For the grotto of memory is bright With such hours crystalized into diamonds that gleam Like stalactites of glistening light ! Yet, the rarest of amber and brightest of pearls Have been found 'neath the stormiest seas ; And the stormiest life, 'mid its stormiest whirls, Is redeemed by such moments as these ! Bay-Blossom ! Bay-Blossom ! thy mem'ries enhance Every day to the man tempest-tossed, 364 LIVING AND DYING. Like the slave of the mine, who can catch but one glance Of the sky and the world he has lost ! The dark veil of the future no glimmerings show — E'en hope's star is obscured from the sight ! Say, oh fate ! was that gleam the dawn's promising glow, Or the sunset preceding the night ! ^iiring nxtb 5sing» BY MAJ. GEO. MCKNIGHT. I WOULD not die on the battle-field, Where the missiles are flying wild ; 'Tis a fancy death, but doesn't suit My mamma's darling child. The cannon's roar and the clash of steel, And the victor's joyous shout; May do very well if a fellow don't care. But rd rather be counted out. I would not die on the vessel's deck, "Where the wild waves dash around, 'Cause I might fall in and have to swim, And can't — so I'd surely be drowned ; And the idea of pickling myself in brine. Is too salty to be endured ; Beside, there's a dearth of salt in the South, And we've other pork to be cured. MUSIC IN CAMP. 365 I would not die at home, in bed, 'Twould fill poor " Klubs " with sorrow ; For if, to-day, he should find me dead, He would die, himself, to-morrow ; And since I've thought the matter o'er The truth, for once, I'm giving — If I'm to have a say in the thing, I think I'll keep on living I nm in €ump BY JOHN R. THOMPSON. Two armies covered hill and plain, Where Eappahannock's waters Ean, deeply crimsoned with the stain Of battle's recent slaughters. The summer clouds lay pitched like tents In meads of heavenly azure ; And each dread gun of the elements Slept in its hid embrasure. The breeze so softly blew it made No forest leaf to quiver, And the smoke of the random cannonade Eolled slowly from the river. And now, where circling hills looked down, With cannon grimly planted. O'er listless camp and silent town, The golden sunset slanted. 366 MUSIC IN CAMP. When on the fervid air there came A strain, now rich, now tender ; The music seemed itself aflame With day's departing splendor. A Federal band, which eve and morn Played measures brave and nimble, Had just struck up with flute and horn And lively clash of cymbal. Down flowed the soldiers to the banks, Till margined by its pebbles, One wooded shore was blue with " Yanks," And one was gray with "Rebels." Then all was still, and then the band, With movements light and tricksy, Made stream and forest, hill and strand, Eeverberate with " Dixie." The conscious stream, with burnished glow, Went proudly o'er its pebbles, But thrilled throughout its deepest flow With yelling of the Eebels. Again a pause, and then again The trumpets pealed sonorous. And Yankee Doodle was the strain To which the shore gave chorus. The laughing ripple shoreward flew To kiss the shining pebbles; Loud shrieke'd the swarming Boys in Blue Defiance to the Eebels. And yet once more the bugles sang Above the stormy riot ; No shout upon the evening rang — There reigned a holy quiet. MUSIC IN CAMP. 367 The sad, low stream its noiseless tread Poured o'er the glistening pebbles j And silent now the Yankees stood, And silent stood the Eebels. No unresponsive soul had heard That plaintive note's appealing, So deeply " Home, Sweet Home," had stirred The hidden founts of feeling. Or blue or gray, the soldier sees, As by the wand of fairy, The cottage 'neath the live oak trees, The cabin by the prairie. Or cold or warm, his native skies Bend in their beauty o'er him ; Seen through the tear-mist in his eyes, His loved ones stand before him. As fades the iris after rain In April's tearful weather, The vision vanished as the strain And daylight died together. But memory, waked by music's art, Expressed in simj)lest numbers, Subdued the sternest Yankee's heart. Made light the Eebel's slumbers. And fair the form of Music shines. That bright celestial creature, Who still 'mid war's embattled lines Gave this one touch of Nature. 368 THE CLIFF BESIDE THE SEA. Cljt Cliff btsxb^ ih Bm. BY COL. W. W. FONTAINE. Five summers bright have come and gono A weary time to me, Since last I strolled upon thy brow, Sweet cliff beside the sea. A maiden rare, with soft brown hair, And lips of richest red, Surveyed with glow upon her face The scene before us spread. The sea, suffused with rosy light, Was smooth as polished glass, Save here and there, where some light breeze Would skimming gently pass ; The head lands white, the purple isles. The gorgeous clouds so grand, Were lovely, as when first they smiled, Beneath Jehovah's hand. And she, my own, my radiant Eve, Was all the world to me ; And on thy brow we plighted vows, Sweet cliff beside the sea. Alas — her vows were only vows ; Her love she soon forgot — And I then hastened far away. From the love-hallowed spot. A traveller, tossed by many a wave, I now return to-night, To dream again that blissful dream, That made thy brow so bright. The river of my thought now runs STONEWALL JACKSON'S WAY. 369 Into the sea of youth, And my light barque is guided on By innocence and truth. The Isle of First Love heaves in sight ; I land with footstep sure, And wander through its moonlit groves, With a tender maiden pure. Enchanted fountains murmur sweet ; Eich roses load the air ; The nightingale is on each spray, And soft lutes low burthens bear. I gently press a snowy hand, That rests upon my arm ; And gaze into those liquid eyes. That thrill me like a charm ; But soon, alas, the vision flies. And I am left with thee, Far from the maid with whom I roved, On the cliff beside the sea. Stomtoall |a;chs0n's Mag-* Come, men, stack arms! pile on the rails Stir up the camp-fire bright ; No matter if the canteen fails. We'll make a roaring night. Here Shenandoah crawls along, Here burly Blue Ridge echoes strong. To swell the brigade's rousing song Of " Stonewall Jackson's way I " 16* 370 STONEWALL JACKSON'S WAY. We see him now — the old slouch'd hat Cock'd o'er his eye askew ; The shrewd dry smile — the speech so pat, So calm, so blunt, so true. The " Blue-light Elder " knows 'em well ; Says he. " That's Banks : he's fond of shell. Lord save his soul! we'll give him " well. That's '• Stonewall Jackson's way ! " Silence! ground arms! kneel all! caps off! Old " Blue Light's " going to pray ; Strans:le the fool that dares to scoff! Attention ! it's his way I Appealing from his native sod, " Hear us Almighty God ! Lay bare thine arm, stretch forth thy rod, Amen ! " That's " Stonewall Jackson's way He's in the saddle now ! Fall in ! Steady ! The whole brigade ! Hill's at the ford, cut off ; we'll win His way out ball and blade. What matter if our shoes are worn ? What matter if our feet are torn ? Quick step ! we're with him before dawn 1 That's " Stonewall Jackson's way ! " The sun's bright lances rout the mists Of morning — and by George ! * Here's Longstreet struggling in the lists, Hemm'd in an ugly gorge. Pope and his Yankees, whipp'd before ; "Bayonets and grape! " hear Stonewall roar, "Charge, Stuart! pay oft' Ashby's score In Stonewall Jackson's way ! " Ah ! maiden, wait, and watch, and yearn, For news of Stonewall's band ! A POEM BY " STONEWALL JACKSON." 371 Ah ! widow, read with eyes that burn — That ring upon thy hand ! Ah ! wife, sew on, pray on, hope on ! Thy life shall not be all forlorn : The foe had better not been born That gets in Stonewall's way. % %imm hvi '' Stanefoall " Muck^QXt. <^ Cfc;^^**^ ^^ a«^*W*tVWi^VV (V' The following beautiful verses were written by the celebrated "Stone- wall" Jackson. They breathe the very essence of poetry. No person of taste can read them without being moved by the genuine filial affection, so tenderly expressed by the highly gifted author, while the heart is touched with sympathy by the mournful strain. The smooth diction, and the charming melody of the stanzas, fall like melting music on the ear while the imagination is stirred by the striking and impressive imagery of the poem, the commencement of which is so weird-like, that it fills the mind with awe and admiration. How truthful and striking are the two last lines of the fourth stanza. Mark how tenderly the poet refers to his be- reaved mother : " Torn like the vine whose tendrils curl'd More closely rourid the fdlling tree." There is not in the whole range of poetical literature a more beautiful couplet than this. TO MY DEPARTED FATHER. As die the embers on the hearth, And o'er the floor the shadows fall, And creeps the chirping cricket forth. And ticks the death-watch on the wall, I see a form on yonder chair, 372 A POEM BY " STONEWALL JACKSON." That grows beneath the waning light, There are the wan, sad features — there The pallid brow and locks of white. My father ! when they laid thee down, And heaped the clay upon thy breast, And left thee sleejoing all alone. Upon thy narrow couch at rest ; I know not why I could not weep — The soothing drops refused to roll — And oh ! that grief is wild and deep, ^ Which settles tearless on the soul. But when I saw thy vacant chair, Thine idle hat upon the wall — The book, the pencill'd passage — where Thine eye had rested last of all ; The tree beneath whose friendly shade Thy trembling feet had wandered forth The very prints those feet had made When last they feebly trod the earth. I thought while countless ages fled, Thy vacant chair would vacant stand, Unworn thy hat, thy book unread. Effaced thy footsteps from the strand ; And widow'd in this cheerless world The heart that gave its love to thee. Torn like the vine whose tendrils curled More closely to the falling tree. Oh, father ! then for her and thee Gush'd madly forth the scalding tears. And oft, and long, and bitterly. These tears have gush'd in later years. For as the world grows cold around, And things assume their real hue, 'Tis sad to find that love is found Alone above the stars with you. TO MISS K. U. S., OP ALEXANDRIA, VA. 373 Co gliss i. m. S., flf §,Itfanbria, m. BY COL. B. H. JONES. Maiden, through death's gloomy portal, In the far cerulean blue, Stands the " Great White Throne " eternal. Stands the City of the True. Kind and gentle Southern maiden. As you move your daily round. Think you of the fields Elysian, Endless in their bliss profound ? Underneath the sweetest pleasures Hung m festoons 'round your way Lo ! these words of doom are written : " Earth and Earth's must soon decay." Eaise your eyes, O gentle maiden! Seek the gem that Mary wore ; Make for the Eternal City, Over on the further shore; Once secured the peace of Jesus, Thine is life forevermore ! BY MRS. M. J. PRESTON, OF VIRGINIA. A SIMPLE, sodded mound of earth. Without a line above it; With only daily votive flowers. To tell that any love it ; 374 STONEWALL JACKSON'S GRAVE. The token flag that silently Each breeze's visit numbers, Alone keeps martial ward above, The hero's dreamless slumbers. 'No name? No record? Ask the world- The world has read his story — If all its annals can unfold A prouder tale of glory ? If ever merely human life Had taught diviner moral — If ever round a worthier brow Was twined a purer laurel ? Humanity's responsive heart Concedes his wond'rous powers, And pulses with a tenderness Almost akin to ours ; Nay, not to ours ! — for us he poured His life, a rich libation. And on adoring souls we wear This blood of consecration. A twelve-month only, since his sword Went flashing through the battle — A twelve-month only since his ear Heard war's last deadly rattle ; And yet have countless pilgrim feet, The pilgrim's guerdon paid him, And weeping women came to see The "place where they had laid him.'* Contending armies* bring in turn Their meed of praise and honor, And Pallas here has paused to bind *In the month of June, the singular spectacle was presented at Lexing- ton, Va,, of two hostile armies, in turn, reverently visiting Jackson's grave. STONEWALL JACKSON'S GRAVE. 375 The cypress wreath upon her ; It seems a Holy Sepulchre, "Whose sanctities can waken, Alike the love of friend or foe, Of Christian or of Pagan. They come to own his high emprise. Who fled in frantic masses. Before the glittering bayonet That triumphed at Manassas ] Who witnessed Kearnstown's fearful odds; As on their ranks he thundered : Defiant as the storied Greek, Amid his brave Three Hundred* They will recall the tiger spring, The wise retreat, the rally. The tireless march, the fierce pursuit. Through many a mountain valley ; Cross Keys unlock new paths to fame, And Port Eepublic's story Wrests from his ever-vanquished foes, Strange tributes to his glory. Cold Harbor rises to their view, The cedar's gloom is o'er them. And Antietam's rouo-h wooded heights CD O Stretch mockingly before them ; The lurid flames of Fredericksburg, Right grimly they remember. That lit the frozen night's retreat. That wintry wild December. The largess of their praise is flung With bounty rare and regal; Is it because the vulture fears No longer the dead eagle ? 376 STONEWALL JACKSON's GRAVE. 'Nay, rather far accept it thus : An homasce true and tender A soldier unto soldier's worth — As brave to brave will render. But who shall weigh the wordless grief That leaves in tears its traces, As round their leader crowd again, The bronzed and veteran faces; The "Old Brigade " he loved so well — The mountain men who bound him With bays of their own winning, ere A tardier fame had crowned him. The legions who had seen his glance Across the carnage flashing, And thrilled to catch his ringing " Charge ! " Above the volley crashing — "Who oft had watched the lifted hand, The inward trust betraying, And felt their courage grow sublime While they beheld him praying ! Good Knights and true as ever drew Their swords with knightly Eoland, Or died at Sobieski's side. For love of martyred Poland ; Or knelt with Cromwell's Ironsides, Or sang with brave Gustavus ; Or on the plain of Austerlitz, Breathed out their dying Aves ? Eare fame ! rare name ! If chanted praise With all the world to listen — If pride that swells a nation's soul — If foemen's tears that glisten — If pilgrim's shining love — if grief THE SUBSTITUTE. 377 Which nought may soothe or sever — If these can consecrate, — this spot Is sacred ground forever I Lexington, Va., June, 1864. C|^^ S^nhBixhU. BY PAUL H. HAYNE. [The infamous barbarity of McNiel at Palmyra, Missouri, in shooting ten of the Confederates on a charge (afterwards disproved, or certainly never established,) that one Andrew Alsman had been killed by other Confederates, — supplied the incident upon which this dramatic sketch is founded. One of the victims, a mere stripling, voluntarily sacrificed his own life to rescue his friend, a man advanced in years and with a large family dependent upon him. The incident would furnish proof enough, if proof were needed, that the sublime heroic virtue of the Syracusan period has not entirely died out with Damon and Pythias. In the poem, the aged man is represented as unaware of the youth's resolve until after its (and his) execution, though, in that particular, the facts were at variance with the position here assumed. Some twenty-four hours are supposed to elapse between the action of the first and second parts.] PART 1st. Place : A Federal Prison. A Confederate, chained, and a visitor, his friend. J- " How say'st thou ? die to-morrow ? Oh my Friend I The bitter, bitter doom ! What hast thou done to tempt this ghastly end, This death of shame and gloom ? '' 378 THE SUBSTITUTE. II. " "What done ? Do tyrants wait for guilty deeds, To find, or prove a crime ? They who have cherished Hatred's fiery seeds, Hot for the harvest time ? III. ^' A sneer ! a smile ! vague trifles light as air — Some foolish, false surmise, — Lead to the harrowing Drama of Despair, Wherein the victim dies ! "And I shall perish ! Comrade, heed me not ! For thus my tears must start — 'Not for the misery of my blasted lot. But hers who holds my heart ! V. " And theirs, the flowers that wreath my humble hearth With roseate blush and bloom, — To-morrow eve they stand alone on earth, Beside their Father's tomb ! VI. " There's Blanche, my serious beauty, lithe and tall, With pensive eyes and brow, — There's Kate, the tenderest darling of them all, Whose kisses thrill me now ! vn. " And little Eose, the sunshine of my days, A tricksy, gladsome spright, — THE SUBSTITUTE. 379 How vividly come back her winsome ways, Her laughters and delight ! VIII. " And my brave boy, my Arthur ! Did his arm Second his will and brain, I should not groan beneath this iron charm. Clashing my chains in vain ! IX. " Alas I and hath it come to this ? Will none Ward off the ' ghastly end ? ' And yet, methinks I heard the voice of one Who called the old man — ' Friend.' X. " May all the curses caught from deepest Hell, Light on the blood-stained knave, Who laughs to hear the Patriot's funeral knell. Blaspheming o'er his grave ! XI. " Away ! Such dreams are madness ! My pale lips Had best beseech Heaven's ear ; But in the turmoil of my mind's eclipse, !N"o thought, no wish is clear ! XII. " Dear Friend, forgive me ! Sorrow, frenzy, ire — My bosom's raging guests — By turn have whelmed me in their floods of fire — Fierce passions, swift unrests I 380 THE SUBSTITUTE. XIII. " And now, farewell ! The sentry's warning hand, Taps at my prison bars. We part, but not forever ! There's a land Comrade, beyond the stars." XIV. " Tea," said the youth ; and o'er his kindling face A saint-like glory came, As if some prescient angel, breathing grace. Had touched it into flame ! PART 2nd. PiiACE: The smne jyrison. Persons: The Confederate prisoner^ iogeth^ with McNeil and thejaUor. I. The hours sink slow to sunset. Suddenly Rose a deep gathering hum, And o'er the measured stride of soldiery Boiled out the muffled drum ! n. The prisoner started, crushed a stifling sigh, Then rose erect and proud ! — Scorn's lightning quivering in his stormy eye, 'Neath the brow's thunder-cloud ! m. And girding round his limbs and stalwart breast Each iron chain and ring, He stood sublime, imperial, self-j)Ossessed, And haughty as a king ! THE SUBSTITUTE. 381 IV. The " dead inarch " wails without the prison gate, Up the calm evening sky ; And ruflaan jestings, born of ruffian hate. Make loud, unmeek reply. V. The " dead march " wails without the prison wall. Up the calm evening sky ; And timed to the dread dirge's rise and fall. Move the fierce soldiery ! VI. They passed ! and wondering at his doom deferred, The captive's lofty fire Sunk in his breast, by torturing memories stirred, Of husband and of sire. VII. But hark ! the clash of bolt and opening door The tramp of hostile heel ! When lo \ upon the darkening prison floor. Glared the false hound — McNeil I VIII. And next him, like a base-dog scenting blood, Eoused from his drunken ease — The grimy, low-browed Jailor glowering stood. Clanking his iron keys ! IX. " Quick ! sirrah ! strike yon Rebel's fetters off, And let the old fool see 382 THE SUBSTITUTE. What ransom," (with a low and bitter scoff,) " What ransom sets him free I X. " A glorious business ! by the Fiend, I think, Bold is put to shame ! I mark his lurid honors pale and sink Before my crimson fame I " XI. As the night Traveller in a land of foes, The warning instinct feels. That through the treacherous dimness and repose, A shrouded horror steals ! XII. So, at these veiled words, the Captive's soul Shook with a solemn dread ; And ghostly voices prophesying dole, Moaned faintly overhead ! XIII. His limbs are freed ! his swarthy, scowling guide Leads thro' the silent town, Where from dim casements — black with hate and pride, Stern, eyes gleam darkly down. XIY. They halted where a dense wood showered around, Dark leaflets on the sod, And the live air seemed vocal with the sound. Of wild appeals to God ! XV. Heaped as if common carrion in the gloom, Nine mangled corpses lay, THE WOMEN OF THE SOUTH. 383 All speechless now ! but with what tongues of doom, Eescrved for Judgment Day ! XVI. And near them, but apart, one youthful form. Pressed a fair, upland slope, O'er whose white brow a sunbeam, flickering warm, Played like a heavenly hope ! XVII. There, with the same grand look which yesternight, That face at parting wore, The self-made Martyr in the sunset light. Slept on his couch of gore ! XVIII. The sunset waned ! The wakening forests waved. Struck by the North wind's moan. While He, whose Life this matchless death had saved. Knelt by the corpse-alone ! ^t momm of tjjs Smitlj. BY COL. B. H. JONES. On what page of history will be recovered more of the patriotism, courage, fortitude, patience, self-denial and love of woman, than that which recites the stirring events of our recent struggle for a separate nationality? " Ah. there were hurried partlnprs and choking sohs, And tears that crush the light from out the eyes of beauty. The mother clasped her boj ; the wife, in speechless agony 384 THE WOMEN OF THE SOUTH. Too great for tears, hung on her husband's bosom. The feir joung girl — with lately damask cheek and kindling eye, Stood pale and trembling. But did they falter? These women frail, or bid the loved ones stay, Nor to the battle go ? Ah ! no ; with whispered prayers And invocations, such as only woman breathes, They said farewell, and felt 'twere better thus than bow the neck, While Northern despots shaped the yoke and shook the chains Which clanked of ignominy. Oppression — fear, did only Make them strong ; and like the noble women of a Spartan line, They gave up these, their jewels, and deemed The sacrifice not great, if Freedom's goal might but be won." Let England boast her " Florence Mghtingale," or Spain her " Maid of Zaragossa " ; we had hundreds and thousands of women all over the South, from the East Atlantic to the banks of the Eio Grande, who for four long years, con- stantly illustrated all the virtues of those illustrious ex- amples. Timid by nature, and reared in the lap of indulgence and luxury, their unflinching courage and complete self- abnegation, not only nerved our arms and fired our hearts, but successfully challenged the sympathy and admiration of the entire unprejudiced world. They cheerfully yielded their husbands and fathers, their sons and brothers, and lovers — not without tears, it is true, but certainly without murmurs — for the success of a cause interwoven with every fibre of their tender and faithful hearts. They denied themselves all the comforts and convenien- ces of their homes for the amelioration of our condition ; and with an energy that never tired, and a faith that never doubted, they toiled and prayed, and hoped for the grand consummation of victory. In the wild bivouac, on the wearisome tramp, amid the roar of battle, in the crowded and gloomy precincts of the hospital — everywhere, at all times and under all circumstances, they were the Angel Ministers of Hope, and Faith, and Charity, and Good- ness ! And while their words and smiles stimulated the faithful and brave, every instinct of their pure souls re- coiled from the baseness and cowardice that culminated in THE WOMEN OP THE SOUTH. 385 treachery and desertion, and the sneer of their contempt and the hiss of their scorn, haunted as a frightful phantom the footsteps of the skulking traitor! To the very last, through victory and defeat, in sunshine and in storm, they were as true to the cause as the needle to the pole; and when came our ruin, final and irretriev- able, they felt the misfortune most keenly of all, and theirs were the bitterest tears of anguish shed upon our dire dis- asters. But their last act in the sorrowful drama, was their - crowning glory, and planted the greenest laurels in the wreaths of their immortality. When we had sorrowfully furled the " Conquered Banner " and returned, not as we all had hoped, with " Yictory and Independence," inscribed upon its folds, torn and rent by the storm of battle— but conquered, disarmed, bleeding, maimed, weary and in rags — they met us, not with averted faces, or frowns and re- proaches ; but amid the ruins of their once beautiful and happy homes, with poverty and want all around them, they welcomed us with open arms ; and with gentle and loving words from aching and lacerated hearts, and smiles struggling through tears, they greeted us as vanquished heroes who had deserved success; and bravely strove, by the exercise of all the beautiful and tender arts of love and sympathy, so well at their command, to lighten the burden of our overwhelming sorrow! This is truly heroic, and when in an after age, the annal- ist and the traveller gropes his way over the scenes where, the chivalric Southron closed with the hardy and invading Northman in deadly conflict — when he clambers over the broken battlements of Atlanta and Eichmond— when he wanders about Chickamauga and Cold Harbor — when he re-peoples the fastnesses of the Blue Eidge and the Kene- saw, and makes the valleys of the Eapidan and the swamps of the Chickahominy echo again with the shouts of victo- ry; when he repeats the story of outrages and wrongs 17 ^ ^ 386 THE WOMEN OF THE SOUTH. that called aloud for retribution ; when he separates the verdure, and reads upon mossy stones the names of our heroic martyrs that lie buried there, will not ten thousand fragile forms rise up before him, clothed in a majesty be- yond the reach of earth, and will not every sighing zephyr syllable the praises of the women of the South ? And now that the marshalling of rival hosts and the thunders of battle no longer disturb our land ; now that "swords are beaten into plough-shares, and spears into pruning-hooks ; " now that peace, dove-eyed, white-winged peace, again gladdens our hearts with her merciful visita- tion — shall our women, that shared in our joys and sor- rows, our hopes and troubles, be less loved than before? Or shall we not rather seek, as did the courtly knights of ancient chivalry, for fresh opportunities to manifest our appreciation of their beautiful and sublimely illustrated virtues ? Shall we not give renewed evidence of continued and ever-increasing loyalty and devotion to our fair coun- trywomen ? Shall we not delight to yield grateful tribute to the exalted merit that is theirs ? Shall we not cheer- fully and gracefully render that spontaneous homage that true manhood never withholds from female excellence ? Yes, with flowers will we crown them as queens of our hearts and our homes. AYith flowers — for what else could be more significant and appropriate. To secure these we follow no bullet-rent and battle-torn banner over the prostrate and mangled bodies of our fel- low men ! They tell not of the ensanguined pathway of the military chieftain ! They do not remind us of confla- grated homes, of outraged virtue, of the tears of bereaved widowhood, or the melancholy wail of hapless orphanage ! They are the beautiful creatures of an Almighty and Be- neficent hand ; the products of our gardens, fields and woods — emblems true of purity and grace — fit coronets to adorn the brow of innocence and beauty, for they are as fresh as the breeze that plays upon our mountain summits, THE DEATH-BED OF STONEWALL JACKSON. 387 pure as the dew-drop that glitters in the first ray of the morning sun, and chaste as the sigh of first love as it comes tremblingly from a guileless maiden's heart ! The women of the South! Ten thousand times ten thousand blessings were daily invoked in their behalf by the gallant men who fought their battles; and to-day they live in the affections of the survivors of our heroic and might}^ struggle, and their deeds shall emblazon and adorn with more than heraldic glory, the brightest pages of can- did and impartial history ! e gcat!j-§cb of Stamfaiill |fitcks0it.- BY COL. B. H. JONES. Stretched on his couch the Christian warrior lies ; Cold perspiration bends his marble brow; The film of death is gathering o'er his eyes ; The victor meets another Conqueror now ! The fiery Hill, and Ehodes with laurels green ; Ewell, Manassas-maimed, and dashing Hood, Are there — there Lee, the nation's hope serene, Soldier and patriot, tried, and true and good. In gloomy silence grouped around they stand, The victors stern of many a hard fought field : Down their bronzed cheeks, like rivulets throuirh sand. The burning tears show iron hearts annealed. Well may they weep in bitterness of soul. For he, the mighty chieftain passing far, 388 THE DYING MOTUER. Hath even with them pressed toward victory's goal, Blazing along the crimson path of war. They'll feel his loss! The nation's heart shall mourn As through the land the doleful news is sped — As on the moaning wintry winds are borne The saddening words: " 'Stonewall' is with the dead." The scene is closing. Calmly on the verge Of Death's dark rolling tide unawed he stands ; While on his gaze, beyond the flood, emerge The opening glories of the Eden Lands. Wanders his mind ! Soon will the strife be o'er ! Listen — he speaks : " This aching in my breast ! Weary with marching, I am faint and sore ! Let's cross the Eiver, to the shade, and rest!" He crossed. A white-winged angel, pure and bright, Went with him. High above the angry flood It bore him to the 2:>lains of Life and Light ; For, true to Man, he was not false to God ! ^Jj^ §ms Poiij^^' BY COL. B. H. JONES. Where Great Kanawha, " Elver of the Woods," Flows tranquilly amid Virginia's hills. Rock-ribbed, wood-crowned, far reaching toward the skies, A dying wife and mother silent lay. THE DYING MOTHER. 389 Above the couch of death, while o'er his cheek, Unused to tears, trickled the stream of sorrow, Her husband bending stood, her hand firm clasped Within his own, as if he fain would pass With her the dark and lonely Yalley through. Beside him, with ached hearts and trembling limbs, In terror half defined, her children grouped, Close huddling, like a flock of frighted quails, When o'er the field some keen-eyed, hungry hawk Darts, with extended wing, in quest of prey, — So round that dying couch they gathered close, And peered, with wistful curiosity, Toward the sad and wasted dying face. Her house was set in order, and her lamp Close trimmed as theirs who wait the Bridegroom's step. Filled to the burnished rim with holy oil. She had quaffed copiously those waters pure Of which spake Jesus to Samaria's daughter, — The cool, free, gushing stream of life eternal, — Of which, if any man shall freely drink. He ne'er shall know of thirst or want again. The warning night might cry : " Behold the Bridegroom I " He Cometh ! Go ye out to meet your Lord ! " That cry, so startling to so many ears, No terrors had for her — the bride in white. Dying she was, but not afraid to die ; And yet she fain would tarry even yet A little while : one strong tie held her soul To earth. Her boy — her darling eldest boy. Of sacred wedlock's fruit the first, — was absent. Absent, though homeward bound, and with no thought That hour by hour around his youthful heart Was gathering close that terrible first sorrow ! — He loitered by the way : he stood not there. Amid the sorrowing throng, with low-bowed head 390 THE DYING MOTHER. The parting blessing to receive, to take The last farewell, and see his mother die ! How yearned, as only mothers' hearts can yearn — That mother's heart toward her absent child ! How oft and earnestly the prayer went up, To lengthen out awhile life's slender thread Till he might come ! — yet still, with meek submission, The pale lips never failed at last to add : '' Thy will, not mine, be done, Oh God ! " Three days, From day to day, they'd borne her wasted form ISTear to a window whence she might descry Th' unwieldy stage go slowly lumbering on Over the distant pike ; and as it j)assed, Nor halted, down her wan cheek stole a tear. And the sad whisper followed, oh, so faint ! — *' When will my darling come ? " Three weary days — Three years, to her — had passed, when lo ! a clear " Halloa ! " was heard, and on the farther shore Her son was seen. They bore her the glad news. And then her pale face flushed, her soft brown eye Its former lustre caught, while round her mouth A smile of heartfelt gratitude and joy Played soft, and sweet, and warm as sunbeams lie "When lingering on the distant mountain top, Ere the refulgent orb puts out his globe Of fire beneath the blue and peaceful sea. Swift as an arrow speeding from the bow Of strong man armed and skilled in archery. Sped o'er the stream the light canoe ; and soon The boy stood on the longed-for shore. Xor stood Inactive ; but quick clambering up the banks. THE DYING MOTHER. 391 Eoot-fringed, he passed the threshold of his home, — His home, long left, and sadly found again. Her ear, long-practised and expectant, heard And knew the welcome footsteps of her child. In toddling infancy that step had made, With its light patterings, music in her heart ; And she had heard them ring in boyhood's strength, With all a doting mother's glorious pride. Eut neither when in helpless infancy, Nor yet in boyhood's stronger, freer years. Had they inspired such joy as now ! Her couch He gained, and bowed his head in anguish deep, Unutterable, upon her faithful breast. Whose every throb proclaimed a world of love. One hand toyed gently with his silken locks, The other patted lovingly his cheeks. All blooming with the roseate hue of health ; Then, circling* close his lithe and tender form Within her fond embrace, with rapture long, Her thin, pale lips she pressed to his, and clung As though she would have taken back again The life once given and nursed through happy years. Then gently loosing from his form her arms. She looked into his face — oh, such a look Of love, and hope, and pride, and sweet content ! Then strained him to her heart again, again, And kissed him o'er and o'er, and laughed, and wept In her profoundest joy. And then anon She questioned him : " Was not her poor boy tired With travel ? " " Was he not hungry ? " " Yes, she knew He was ! " and bade a servant food prepare. Who but a mother, in an hour like this, Would such solicitude have fondly shown ? 392 THE DYING MOTHER. Yainly the boy essayed to eat : too full His heart, too great his grief, for human food! For well and sadly he remembered then. How six months earlier, on a summer's morn, She'd bidden him farewell, and, weeping, said : ** I ne'er shall see your face again, my son. This side the grave ! " And how himself had forced A smile, and said 'twas only groundless fear That prompted the remark ; and yet how deep Had been the impression on his youthful mind Of that chance word, so nearly verified. And while he sat apart from her and mused, One came in haste and s^^oke in accents low And with emotion tremulous : " Come quickly, For she is dying ! " She her last farewell Had taken of her husband ; the dark veil Of death 'twixt her and all material things Had fallen ; her arms extended groped i' th' air As if they sought some object ever fond, To which she longed to give her last embrace. Then closed they nervously, while yet her lips Low whispered faint his name — her darling child — Her first, her most beloved — if mothers know Such difference, — was folded to her heart : Her heart, alas ! so pulseless now and still ! Her prayer was answered ; she had seen her child, And she was dead ! Upon a grassy knoll, "Where played the whispering winds amid the boughs Of the old cedars, and where peach-trees scattered Their pinky blossoms on the emerald sward — They sadly laid her form away, and left it Sleeping the last long dreamless sleep of death. And when the spring time on Kanawha came, - THE DYING MOTHER. 393 And modest violets in the sunny nook Their purple petals opened to the air, And lowland verdure crept toward the hills, And doves and robins cooed and sung their notes Of joy in woodland, meadow, glade and glen, — Then thither came the boy, and cut in squares The verdant sod, and laid it over her, (As if to put bereavement farther off By making green the grave so dearly filled,) Set there the fragrant wild rose from the hills, And reared an humble structure, rude and strong, To guard the sacred clay from careless tread Of brutish beast, or scarce less brutish man, Who, unreflecting, plants his careless foot Upon the holiest, dearest spots of earth, Nor deems the act a sacrilege ! Long years Passed on. That boy bereaved became a man. And with strong heart went forth to battle fierce And steadfast, on the way of human life. He has travelled far, seen much, and suffered more. Positions of high trust and weary thought He has filled responsibly ; drank long and deep From that vexed fountain, popular applause; Yiewed scenes of quiet happiness and peace. Where love to love responded ; face to face, Met shapes of sorrow, violence, and death. Where grief, too great for words, sat statue-dumb — Where anguish raved, destroying hearts and lives; Made on the battle-field his fearful home, Where death upon the whizzing bullet sped. Or shrieked along the pathway of the shell, Or leaped like lightning from the sabre's edge, Or shimmered from the thousand points of steel. All this ; but only once his way-worn foot 17* 394 THE DYING MOTHER. Hath stood upon that memory -haunted spot, Since in young manhood's fresh and vigorous prime He bade Kanawha's wooded hills adieu. The structure rude had fallen to decay, But the sweet grass grew fresh, and dank, and green, And the wild-rose with intermingled leaves And flowers had woven a curtain, royal, rich, Of pink and emerald hues, and redolent With fragrance only breathed from Nature's lips — Woven and hung it there. The boy-man turned — The boy-man, rich in owning such a grave — And as he did so, on one bended blade Their hung a tear-drop, sparkling diamond-bright. Proclaiming how even yet the true affections Paid tribute to the virtues, dear and rare. Of her whose hallowed dust was laid beneath. And now upon a lone and dreary isle, Far from his mother's grave — from gentle wife And native mountains far — so sadly far! — He sits a weary captive, hedged around By hostile steel — his great and damning crime, Love of that freedom which our fathers won ! Through all this long and variegated laj^se Of circling years, despite ambition foiled And gratified, despite the witnessed scenes Of hope, despair, of joy, and pain, and death. Despite his exile lone: — the memory Of that dear mother's fond prophetic words. Her dying prayer, answered so by heaven. The light that came t' lustre-losing eye. That strained embrace, that wild and clinging kiss, Telling the rich, unfathomable depth Of a dear parent's holy deathless love, — All these survive, green, tender, fadeless, fresh. As in that hour which made him Motherless ! Johnson's Island, Ohio, March, IS&S. LAYING AWAY THE OLD FLAG. 395 f auing %\xini^ ih ©lir Jfkg. [Theee seems a peculiar and melancholy appropriateness in this poem, and resembles '* The Conquered Banner." This was published in a New- York daily paper at the close of 1860, or the beginning of 1861, and had for its motto the following passage from a speech of Jefferson Davis, then yet a U. S. Senator, when the secession troubles were thickening : " My pride, Senators, is that that flag shall not be set between contending breth- ren ; but that when it shall no longer be the common flag of our country, it shall be folded up and laid away, like a vesture no longer used, and be kept as a sacred memento of the past, to which all of us can look with sacred interest, and remember the glorious days when we were born I ' ' The other was, as its tone so truly indicates, the wail of despair over the flag of the defeated Confederacy. — Ed.] Yes ! fold it up with careful hands, That stainless flaff of old. Which floated out so gloriously Above the true and bold ! How many memories of the past Come thronging to our view, As star and stripes shine brightly forth Upon the field of blue ! The air of victory has borne Its free folds proudly out ; In every fight its standard prest On with the victor's shout. The haughty flag of England fell Before its steady light, And conquering legions planted it On Montezuma's height. And from the mast its mimic stars Shone down on every sea. Proclaiming on the pathless waves The triumphs of the free ; 396 LAYING AWAY THE OLD FLAG. For those who trod the deck below Were monarchs of the tide, Protected by its chartered folds, The symbol of their pride ! Brothers from all our broad domain Have borne it, hand in hand ; And shall it wave reluctantly O'er half our parted land ? And shall the generous South, opprest And struggling to be free, Find in the battle's van that flag Oppose her liberty ? 'No ! let the Northmen lead their hosts Beneath their " bannered Pine," And mid the bright Palmetto leaves The Southern Stars may shine. But fold the sacred banner up — This banner of the Past — And weeping eyes and gentle hands Should guard it to the last. Then, if old memories of love Should quell the angry flood, — If God in mercy whisper " peace ! " And stay the tide of blood, — Then let it wave out joyously O'er every hill and plain ; Oh ! what a shout of joy would greet Its stripes and stars again ! THE SWORD OF ROBERT LEE. 397 ^t Stoorir of ^obttt f w. BY FATHER A. J. RYAN. Forth from its scabbard pure and bright, Flashed the Sword of Lee. Far in the front of the deadly fight, High o'er the brave in the cause of right. Its stainless sheen, like a beacon light. Led us to victory ! Out of its scabbard, where full long It slumbered peacefully — Eoused from its rest by the battle-song. Shielding the feeble, smiting the strong, Guarding the right, avenging the wrong — Gleamed the Sword of Lee! Forth from its scabbard, high in air. Beneath Virginia's sky ; And they who saw it gleaming there. And knew who bore it, knelt to swear, That where that sword led they would dare To follow and to die. Out of its scabbard ! Never hand Waved sword from stain as free, Nor purer sword led braver band, Nor braver bled for brighter land, Nor brighter land had a cause as grand. Nor cause a chief like Lee ! Forth from its scabbard ! How we prayed That sword might victor be I And when our triumph was delayed. And many a heart grew sore afraid. 398 A DIRGE FOR ASHBY. We still hoped on while gleamed the blade Of noble Eobert Lee ! Forth from its scabbard ! All in vain ! Forth flashed the sword of Lee 1 'Tis shrouded now in its sheath again ; It sleeps the sleep of our noble slain, Defeated, yet without a stain. Proudly, yet peacefully ! % girgt for ^sljfair. BY MRS. M. J. PRESTON, OF VIRGINIA. Heard ye that thrilling word — Accent of dread — Flash like a thunderbolt, Bowing each head — Crash through the battle dun. Over the booming gun, ^^ Ashby, our bravest one, — Ashby is dead ! " Saw ye the veterans — Hearts that had known Never a quail of fear, Never a groan, — Sob 'mid the fight they win. Tears their stern eyes within, — " Ashby, our Paladin, Ashby is gone ! '^ A DIRGE FOR ASHBY. 399 Dash, — ddsh the tear away — Crush down the pain ! " Dulce et decus " be Fittest refrain ! Why should the dreary pall Round him be flung at all? Did not our hero fall Gallantly slain ? Catch the last word of cheer Dropt from his tongue ; Over the volley's din, Loud be it rung — " Follow me ! follow me ! " Soldier, oh ! could there be Paean or dirge for thee, Loftier sung ! Bold as the Lion-heart, Dauntless and brave ; Knightly as knightliest Bayard could crave ] Sweet with all Sidney's grace — Tender as Hampden's face — Who — who shall fill the space Void by his grave? 'Tis not one broken heart. Wild with dismay ; Crazed with her agony, Weeps o'er his clay ; Ah I from a thousand eyes, Flow the pure tears that rise. Widowed Virginia lies Stricken to-day I 400 THE cavalier's serenade. Yet, though that thrilling word- Acceut of dread — Falls like a thunderbolt, Bowing each head — Heroes! be battle done, Bravelier every one, INerved by the thought alone — Ashby is dead! ^In Cafaalier's ^^r^ixab^. BY COL. WM. S. HAWKINS. O, come to the heart that is beating for thee ! By the hope of my freedom, my bride thou shalt be. Come, dear one, come bright eyes, let's gallop away, Far, far to the southward, ere dawn of the day ; A proud steed awaits thee — my band's in the vale — O haste thee, love, haste, ere the night watches fail. Along my bold legion together we'll ride. And my gallants will honor their Cavalier's bride ! O, fear not that flash where the rivulet gleams. All still and unconscious the enemy dreams : That clang ? — but a warrior trying his blade — Their hearts are of iron, O, be not afraid. That light ? — but the sheen on a bright-barreled gun. That murmer? — they talk of the deeds we have done. Oar chargers are matchless, and, bounding along. Thy beauty shall gladden the chief of the throng. THE cavalier's SERENADE. 401 The moon's pallid beam shineth brightly afar, And fondly doth twinkle our love's happy star ; Then come, dearest, come to my sun-brightened clime, Where even the waters run rippling in rhyme ; Where the breezes are laden with the odors of flowers, And beauty and gladness lend wings to the hours : When sleeping, my sentries shall watch o'er the lawn, And my silvery bugle shall wake thee at dawn. Where the oak throws its shade o'er the wild muscadine, Where the mock-bird is singing, thy love shall be mine. On thee, in the greenwood, the sun shall not glare As thy white hand is wreathing thy soft silken hair; Thy bright eyes shall glance their encouragement sweet As my braves sally forth on their coursers so fleet, And returning with captures and spoils to thy side. Thy kiss shall reward me, my darling, my bride ! The lovers of Southland are tender and true. And brook no denial when passion they sue; Then come, love, away to the camp of the free, The scout of the woodland bends only to thee. A ladder of silk from the window is thrown ; One leap, and thy soldier shall hold thee — his own. Sound the rally, my lads, then away like the deer. And guard well the bride of your bold Cavalier! 402 DAVID S. CREIGH, THE WEST VIRGINIA MARTYR. OB THE CRIME OF A MAJOR-GENERAL. BY W. H. SYME, M. D., OF LEWISBURG, WEST VIRGINIA. David S. Oreigh, Esq., was born in Lewisburg, Green- brier county, Virginia, in the year 1807. He was the fourth child of Thomas Creigh, a native of Antrim county, Ireland. His father, Thomas Creigh, became a resident of Lewisburg in the year 1792, and intermarried with JMiss Margaret Linn Williams, in the year 1801. Miss Williams was the daughter of Captain Samuel Williams, who was also a native of Ireland, and having married previously, in Augusta county, Virginia, Mrs. Agatha Wilson, a widowed sister of Col. John Stuart, of Greenbrier, removed to the county of Greenbrier, in the year 1795. Through his mother, David S. Creigh was related to many families of high social position, prominence and influence, from the Blue Ridge to the Ohio Eiver. Thomas Creigh, the father of David, resided in Lewis- burg about fifty years, the greater portion of which long period was devoted to mercantile pursuits. In his avoca- tion he acquired a large fortune, and maintained it through life, and left to his numerous family, an unsullied name. During early life he had been schooled in the pure doc- trine of the Presbyterian Church, in Ireland, and having exemplified, by his life, the principles of his early educa- tioB, he died at a very advanced age, beloved, esteemed and revered. David S. Creigh was reared in the same faith with his father, and, although he did not make an open profession of relio-ion until the summer of 1857, vet such was the uniform rectitude and propriety of his life, that the great revolution then wrought was far more in the interior gov- DAVID S. CREIGH, THE WEST VIRGINIA MARTYR. 403 erninsT motive than its external manifestation. His life, up to that period, so exemplary, had been but the out- birth of the impulses of a noble nature, guided by the wholesome influence of early moral instruction — now it became an emanation of those pure and holy influences, known and felt by the Christian heart alone. Mr. Creigh's youth and early manhood were devoted to merchandizing ; but having, in the year 1833, married Emily, daughter of Capt. Charles Arbuckle, of G-reenbrier) one of the oldest and most respectable families in the county, he abandoned the mercantile business, and for the remainder of his life gave his attention to agriculture. In the life of a man whose habits were so domestic, and whose disposition was so modest and unobtrusive, as were those of the subject of this sketch, few events occur which can be regarded as particularly worthy of record. The in- disposition to engage in public life, ever manifested by such men, withdraws them from the stage of notoriety, and throws the veil of privacy around the even tenor of their virtuous lives. Nevertheless, the responsibilities of citi- zenship, of Christianity, and of private life, were so im- perative as to bring Mr. Creigh forth from his beloved re- tirement, in a degree sufficient to familiarize his country- men with his many virtues, and to win alike their fond regard and universal esteem. The writer of this humble tribute to his memory, knew him from about the time of his marriage, and intimately for many years before his death, and he knew no man within the limits of our coun- try whose character he esteemed as more irreproachable, and whose popularity he regarded as so exclusively a volun- tary tribute of regard on the part of the people for exalted and modest merit. Though again and again solicited to accept posts of profit, honor and distinction, he could never be induced to do so, and, with the exception of the Magistracy, never held a public ' office. To this, upon the recommendation of the 404 DAVID S. CREIGH, THE WEST VIKGINIA MARTYR. County Court of Greenbier, he was appointed by the Executive of the State, in 1838, and upon the adoption of the Constitution of 1850, was elected to it again by the people, and continued to be re-elected up to the time of his death. He also filled the responsible and delicate trust of Bank Director for a number of years. With reference to the manner in which he discharged the duties of these two posts, the writer is able to testify, having served with him in both capacities, that, both as a Magistrate and as a Director, fidelity to the trust reposed in him, firmness, impartiality, integrity and courtesy, ever characterized him. But as to the estimate in which he was held as a Magistrate, much higher testimony than that of any indi- vidual may be found in his repeated re-election to the office, and in the resolutions adopted on the occasion of his death by the County Court, of which he was so long a member. Upon making a profession of religion, in 1857, Mr. Creigh united himself with the Presbyterian Church; and the estimate in which he was held, as a Christian and a man, induced his brethren to place him among the Elder- ship of their Church, a position which he continued to hold up to the time of his death. In the resolutions adopted by the Session of the Church, will be found an expression of the sentiments of this body, of their high opinions of his worth as a Christian and a man, and of their profound grief for the loss sustained by the Church and society, in his lamentable death. As a business man, Mr. Creigh's relations, to a numerous family and society, called upon him to act as fiduciary in various trusts, alike delicate and responsible. The wind- ing up and settlement of his father's large estate were principally confided to him, with other trusts ; but the duties of all have been discharged in a manner satisfactory to those concerned, and at the same time so quietly, and with so much humanity, as to have left the stronghold which he has so long had upon the public regar'd undi- DAVID S. CREIGH, THE WEST VIRaiNIA MARTYR. 405 minished in strength, and to have given rise to no mur- murs and complaints. In politics, he was a a firm, consistent, but modest and unassuming member of the great conservative party of the country ; a lover of peace, and of the Union, and ut- terly opposed to the extremism, l!»J^orth and South, which has resulted so disastrously to the whole country. Until forbearance ceased to be a virtue, with all the firmness of his manhood, but in his quiet and noiseless way, he op- posed the revolutionary movements which ushered in the terrible scenes through which we have passed; but when war became inevitable, and he saw his beloved South about to be overrun by 75,000 men, and that no terms of compromise or adjustment would be entertained, true to the instincts of his manly nature, his brave heart responded to the call of his oppressed and wronged people, and their God, their wrongs, their cause became his own. His age, and the care of a large family, imposed upon him the po- sition of a non-combatant, but his heart and services, within the S2:)here of his operations, were devoted to the Southern cause. But though, in common with his neighbors, subjected to the hardships and privations consequent upon the war, and a ruthless and merciless invasion, his Christian and manly virtues never forsook him. After the battle of Lewisburg he was to be found among the first on the bloody field of battle, extending, alike, to friend and foe, the oflSces of the good Samaritan, and his Christian charity and Virginia hospitality would not suffer him to withhold, from the hungry wretches destined to become his mur- derers, such fare as his table afforded. As an instance of the chivalric honor and noble generosity of the man, the following anecdote may be cited : While Gen. Crook, with his army, was camping at Meadow Bluff, in the county of Greenbrier, in the year 1862, a friend of Mr. Creigh's, from a neighboring western 406 DAVID S. CREIGH, THE WEST VIRGINIA MARTYR. county, came to him and told him that Crook had per- mitted his men, rudely and grossly, to insult his wife and daughters, and that he was determined to waylay Crook as he passed along the turnpike, and pick him off with his trusty rifle. Mr. Creigh tried to dissuade him from his purpose, using such arguments as he thought most likely to change his determination, but he found his friend im- movable. Knowing the determined character of the man, and confident that he would carry out his intention if not prevented, ]\Ir. Creigh then urged upon his friend to re- main with him a few days, and accompany him upon some trip which he was about to take. The friend, unaware of Mr. Creigh's intention, and of Crook's anticipated depar- ture, consented to do so. In the meantime, Gen., then Col. Crook, left Meadow Bluff' with his forces, and thus Mr. C. succeeded, in all probability, in saving the life of the very man by whose order he was subsequently arrest- ed, and to whom and G-en'l Hunter the family of our de- ceased friend are indebted for their irreparable loss, and our community for the death of one of its most estimable, most valuable, and most beloved citizens, and the civilized world one of the most execrable and detestable crimes committed during this war of horrors. It follows necessarily, from what has been said above, that Mr. Creigh, in the various relations of life, could not have been otherwise than exemplary. His virtues, as a man, and as a gentleman and as a Christian, eminently fitted him to fill every domestic and social position inci- dent to life; and consequently, we find him as a husband, as a father, as a son, as a brother, as a master, as a citizen and as a neighbor, beloved, respected and lamented. From the time of his arrest and departure from Lewis- burg, as a prisoner in the custody of G-eneral Crook's Army, the deepest anxiety was felt, in his behalf, by the peo- ple of Greenbrier. Conjecture upon conjecture was indulged in as to his probable fate ; but the idea that such a man as DAVID S. CREIGH, THE WEST VIRGINIA MARTYR. 407 D. S. Creigh could be sentenced to an ignominious death, and executed by gentlemen for having tried to protect his wile and daughters in his own house from the insults of a ruffian, and his house from plunder by the same, was too horrible to be entertained ! With General Crook our com- munity was acquainted, and, from their previous know- ledge of the man, could draw no such inference as to his probable course. But, alas ! their hopes were destined to a bitter and cruel disappointment. When the intelligence of his barbarous execution reached the county, the whole community seemed shocked. Never have I known the death of one man, even in a time of profound peace, so sensibly to affect a whole peoj^le. The writer conversed with many, and every man seemed to feel the blow, as if it had fallen immediately within his own domestic circle. In accordance with his request, his remains having been disinterred from the grave in which they had been depos- ited in Eockbridge county, Ya., were brought to his home on the 28th of July, 1864, and having been watched over for three days by his devoted "family, were, on Sunday morning, July 31st., escorted by a funeral procession of more than a mile in length, taken to the Presbyterian church in Lewisburg. In this venerable old church, whose services he had regularly attended from early child- hood, the funeral obsequies were performed After sing. i^g l>y tbe choir and prayer, his revered old Pastor, Dr. McElhenny, who had known him from childhood's hour, in words which drew tears from eyes unused to weep, portrayed his manly virtues. The funeral was preached by the Eev. J. C. Barr. His subject — The Christian Martyr. The services being completed, his remains were deposited by the side of his ancestors and relatives (in the grave- yard adjoining the church,) there to remain until the re- surrection morn. As the throng retired from the grave, an old and highly respectable citizen of the county remarked, " That the State never lost a better citizen ; nor the grave received a nobler man." 408 DAVID S. CREIGH, THE WEST VIRGINIA MARTYR. He has gone to his last resting jilacc on earth, but the spot, consecrated by his remains, will not soon be forgot- ten. Proud of the name he has left them, hallowed as it is by so many noble virtues — so many sacred memories, his friends, his relatives and his children, from generation to generation, will revere the spot, as commemorative of departed worth, and suggestive to all who may visit it, of a noble example of manly and heroic virtue, chastened and purified by the holy influence of the Eeligion of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. For an account of the circumstances which led to the death of Mr. Creigh ; the cruel mockery of his trial ; his noble letter to his beloved wife, and his barbarous execu- tion, see an extract from the Central Presbyterian, published below. See also the resolutions passed by the Session of the Presbyterian Church and the County Court of Green- brier, of both of which bodies he was a member at the time of his lamented death. ~ MURDER OF DAVID S. CREIGH, OF GREENBRIER COUNTY, VA. We record below one of the most deliberate and horrid murders known in these days of darkness. No fouler deed has stained the hands of our enemies, so often red with innocent blood. We have abstained from a hasty publication, expecting the facts from the most trustworthy sources. Such are now in our possession. They are contained in a letterfrom Dr. Thomas Creigh, a brother of the deceased, a gentleman well known as one of the most eminent physicians in that part of the State, and who, for some years, represented the large and very intelligent county of G-reenbrier, both in the Senate and the House of Delegates, of Ya. We have also a copy of the letter addressed by David S. Creigh to his wife, a few hours before his execution ; a copy of the letter addressed by the Federal Chaplain, Eev. A. G, Os- born, to Mrs. Creigh, and written in Lewisburg, during DAVID S. CREIGH, THE WEST VIRGINIA MARTYR. 409 General Hunter's disastrous retreat; and a copy of the paper adopted by the Session of the Presbyterian Church in Lewisburg — published last week. Besides these are letters from persons of the highest standing, whose names are a complete voucher for whatever they assert. Alto- gether, the material facts in the case may be regarded as beyond dispute. Instead of publishing all these docu- ments — often repetitions substantially of the same thing — it is judged best to combine them into one statement, with such reference and quotations as may be needful. We owe it to the memory of one of the best men with- in our knowledge, a most worthy elder in the Presbyterian Church, to his deeply bereaved family, kindred and friends, to set before the world, for its judgment thereupon, this faithful narrative. — Editor Central Presbyterian. All persons in the habit of visiting Lewisburg, twenty years ago, will remember the happy household of Thomas Creigh. He was a venerable man, of thoroughly approved integrity and piety ; of ample wealth also, the fruit of his own industry. It is enough to say that he was the inti- mate, trusted friend of his pastor, the Eev. John McElhen- ny, D. D., that beloved patriarch of the Presbyterian Church, and still living, beyond four-score years, to guide, and bless, and comfort his people, now so greatly afflicted. The children of the family mentioned — many in number — were carefully brought up " in the nurture and admoni- tion of the Lord.^' They were every way well prepared to take their place among the most respected and cherish- ed, in a community distinguished for its good order, intel- ligence and religious character. David S. Creigh, whose tragical end we are about to re- cord, was one of the sons in this excellent family. His reputation was of the highest order. No man in the large county of Greenbrier was better known or more esteemed ; few, if any, had more influence. Besides offices of high 18 410 DAVID S. CREIGH, THE WEST VIRGINIA MARTYR. public trust in civil life, he was a valued elder in the Presbyterian church of Lewisburg, one of the largest and most respectable in the Synod of Yirginia, and over which Dr. McElhenny and his colleague, Eev. J. C. Barr, presided as pastors. The session of that chui^h is composed of gentlemen (among them the present Lieutenant-Grovernor of Ya.,) whose names are a complete voucher for the truth of all they state. Their testimony concerning Mr. Creigh, given in the presence, under the menace, it might be said, of a watchful and vindictive foe, has been already publish- ed. They declare him to have been " a citizen of elevated character, a Christian of blameless life." " To a lofty integrity he joined an unswerving truth ; to the noble qualities of a gentleman, he added the nobler qualities of a Christian. These he illustrated in his daily walk and conversation ; he had many friends and few enemies, be- cause he was emphatically a Christian gentleman." In short, he was known everywhere as one of the very best men in that whole community. This brief statement is enough to introduce that which we now proceed to relate. In the early part of last November, and while the army of General Crook was in the vicinity of Lewisburg, Mr. David S. Creigh, whose residence was about two miles from the town, upon entering his house one day, was informed that a Federal soldier, a man of dissolute habits, was within, engaged in the work of -robbing the house, and also using very insulting and abusive language to his wife and daughters ; that he was at that very moment up stairs breaking open drawers and trunks. Mr. Creigh, having a small pistol in his pocket, went up stairs, where he saw the contents of his daughter's trunks scattered over the floor, and some of them flaunted in his wife's face. The soldier soon tried to break open the trunk of a young lady who was employed as a teacher in the family. Mr. Creigh requested him to desist from the attempt, stating at the same time that it was the property of a lady under his DAVID S. CREIGH, THE WEST VIRGINIA MARTYR. 411 care. The villain, rising from the trunk, immediately drew his pistol, cocked it, and pointed it at Mr. C, ex- claiming, " go out of this room ! What are you doing here ? Bring me the keys ! " Mr. C. drew his pistol, and snapped it at the fellow, he, at the same instant, firing his pistol, and the ball, grazing Mr. Creigh's face, passed into the wall. He then seized the robber, and in the scuflSe which followed, was pushed out into the passage, and thrown down the stairs at the front door of the house, the soldier falling upon him. They rose together, and in the attempt to wrest the pistol from the Yankee's hands, it was accidentally discharged, and the first discovery of its effects upon his person was from seeing the profuse flow of his blood. He struggled into the portico, where he again fired his pistol at Mr. C, the ball going into the upper part of the front door. A negro woman standing at the door with an axe in her hand, cried, "Master, he will get up," and begged him to strike him with the axe; which was taken from her hands, and this infamous robber forthwith despatched. The Federal Army were in the country. To have the case judged by the civil court was impossible. Should Mr. Creigh carry it before the enemies of his country? He determined not to do this. After consultation and ad- vice, the body was disposed of in a private manner. We mean by this that the matter was not made a public sjdcc- tacle. The very same motive was upon Mr. Creigh that influ- enced Moses of old, when the Egyptian he had slain was hid in the sand. An Irishman about the house, a hired la- borer, told the matter to a negro boy belonging to a neigh- bor, and when the Federal army returned to Greenbrier, in June, this slave went off to them, and gave them information. Search was made and the remains found. Mr. Creiijh made a candid statement of the whole occur- rence to the military authorities, declaring that he consid- 412 DAVID S. CREIGH, THE WEST VIRGINIA MARTYR. ered himself justified in what he had done, and that he would do the same thing to any soldier, whether Fed- eral or Confederate, under the same circumstances. — After his arrest, they took his wife and two daughters about ten o'clock on a very dark night; compelled them to ride behind their guard on horseback, four miles to head- quarters. They did not, however, ask them a question, nor were they even permitted to see Mr. Creigh. He re- quested that his excellent friend and neighbor, Mr. John W. Dunn, should appear as a witness. They sent for him, but would not permit him to answer a single question. They departed from the neighborhood of Lewisburg the next day, leaving Mrs. Creigh and her two daughters to go on foot to that place, four miles distant. Mr. Creigh they marched on foot to Staunton, a distance of one hun- dred miles, and where the forces under Averill were joined by the army under Hunter. He wrote a letter to his wife, in which he speaks of his entire ignorance of his destina- tion, supposing however that it was probal)ly Staunton. He exhorts her to bear up under the trial, hoping to meet his family soon again on earth — at all events in a better world. This is about all the information his friends have concerning him, till the time of his end. The few facts known concerning his murder we now proceed to relate. The army of General Hunter left Staunton on Friday, June the 10th, proceeding up the Valley towards Lexing- ton, by various roads. On Sunday evening, the 12th, G-en. Averill encamped on Hay's Creek, about two miles below Brownsburg. The spot selected was the home of our childhood — the farm owned by our father, and, ever since his death, by his son-in-law and successor as pastor of New Providence Church, the Eev. James Morrison. The tent of Gen. Averill was pitched in his yard. About dark a rather elderly-looking person knocked at the door, an- nouncing himself as the Kev. Mr. Osborn, from Union Town, Pennsylvania, a Chaplain of theFederal Army. He DAVID S. CREIGH, THE WEST VIRGINIA MARTYR. 413 requested to see Mr. Morrison, stating that they had with the army a citizen of Greenbrier county whose name was Creio-h, that he was under sentence of death, and was about to be executed. (His doom had just been announced.) He also said Mr. Creigh had mentioned that he was well acquainted with Mr. Morrison, had often heard him preach, and that, in the immediate prospect of death, he had sent to ask an interest in his prayers. He stated farther, in answer to inquiries on that point, that no com- munication with the prisoner would be permitted. He was kept under strict guard in a negro cabin close by, and though repeated efforts were made that night to visit him, they were in vain. It was at this awful hour, and imme- diately after knowing his fate, that Mr. Creigh wrote his beloved wife the following letter, from which we omit only a few matters relating to his private affairs : June 10th, 1864. Dear Emily : I arrived this evening at the Eev. James Morrison's, in Eockbridge county. After eating my supper I was taken into a house and the sentence pronounced that I was to be hung. I was not permitted any counsel in my case. I wish you, my dear beloved wife, to bear up under this dreadful bereavement ; you and all the children bear up under this as well as you can, and all try to meet me in heaven. I am meeting death with calmness, believing and trusting in the Lord Jesus Christ, the Saviour of sinners. My sincere wish is that all my brothers and sisters may meet me in heaven. In my sentence it was read, that the house was to be burned to the ground, but the gentleman that brought me this paper said that part of the sentence would not be carried out. I hoped that I would once more see you all on earth, but it is decreed otherwise, and I have to submit. I wish my remains to be removed and laid by the side of our father's and mother's, as soon as convenient. The execu- tion will take place in a few minutes. The Eev. A. Gr. Osborn has prayed for me before I commenced writing. 414 DAVID S. CREIGH, THE WEST VIRGINIA MARTYR. I sent for him this minute, and he and Provost Marshal came in together, and the Provost Marshal was authorized to say the execution, if I wished, should not take place until day-light, which I accepted : that much more time to offer up prayers to Grod, for myself and dear beloved wife, and children to meet me in heaven. My dear brother Louis, 1 know how this will affect you. You know all about my business. =* * # i wish my beloved son Cyrus, if he is spared through this dreadful war, to manage my business with your assistance ; as du- tiful a son as ever lived, and I must say so for all my sons and daughters. I now leave you, Cyrus, Thomas, Charles, Eufus, David, Christopher, Lockhart, Egbert, Margaret, Mary and Elizabeth ; leave you with your Christian mother. Cod be your stay and support, trusting in God, and preparing to meet me in heaven. David S. Creigh. The next morning, a little after sunrise, he was brought out under guard, put into a wagon, and conveyed up a little vale to a spot about a quarter of a mile north of the house, and in full view of it. There upon a tree, close by a fountain known as the " big spring," was this most in- famous deed of demons, in the shape of men, perpetrated, and their malice gratified. About nine o'clock that day, as the army began to move, the chaplain again knocked at the door to inquire whether the family were aware of the solemn event which had taken place. He expressed the strong impressions he had received of Mr. Creigh being a good man, and bore testi- mony to the perfect composure and Christian spirit with which he met his death. (Some of the private soldiers took occasion to declare their opinion that the execution was no better than murder ; that in killing the soldier, he had done no more than he was bound to do.) He stated also that it was his request that his remains might be left so that his friends could obtain them, and as soon as the army departed, the body left hanging on the tree might be taken down. This was accordingly done. The wife DAVID S. CREIGH, THE WEST VIRGINIA MARTYR. 415 of the venerable minister (he being in very feeble health, could not assist,) with such assistance as could be com- manded, proceeded to attend at once to this mournful office. The body was taken down, wrapped in a blanket, and put into a grave dug on the spot, until better arrange- ments could be made. In the disturbed condition of the community — nearly all the male portion being absent — it was not until Thursday that a coffin could be procured. By that time one of the sons of Mr. Creigh, in Gen. Breckenridge's army, having heard of the fate of his father, had come over, and was present when the remains of this good man were suitably laid in the grave-yard of New Providence Church. The following comments upon the preceding facts, by the Eev. Dr. Brown, an eminent minister of the Presby- terian Church, and editor of the Central Presbyterian, em- bodied the sentiment of the entire people of the Confeder- acy, and will find a response in the heart of every honor- able man throughout the world : DAVID S. CREIGH. The reader is referred to the fir^t page of this paper for a statement of facts concerning the murder of this good and upright man. Whether anything more pertaining to his pretended trial will ever come to light this side of the great judgment, is known to God only. In the meantime, the facts brought before us, and about which there is no reason to doubt, are too solemn, too vital in their charac- ter and bearing to be passed over. If there breathes in this land a man who can look upon this diabolical outrage with an unmoved heart, it is only because that heart is dead to everything most precious in our birth right. What are we to learn from, this tragedy f Our people are now given to understand that it is the privilege, the right of every licentious Federal soldier to enter our houses at pleasure, abuse and insult our wives and daughters, rifle 416 DAVID S. CREIGH, THE WEST VIRGINIA MARTYR. our trunks and drawers. If we dare remonstrate, we are to be ordered out like a spaniel. " What are you doing here ? Bring me the keys ! " This is the style of proceeding. The villain, at the same time, has his pistol draivn, cocked and pointed at your breast! This was exactly the case here. Another letter from a most intelligent gentleman living close by, and whose relation to Mr. Creigh would lead to an intimate acquaintance with the whole matter, mentions the additional fact that the ruffian attempted to force his way into the chamber of a sick daughter. But no mat- ter; the edict of this execution is plainly as follows: "You infamous rebels ! not only will we kill you when we can in open battle, but we will also give our soldiers unlimited li- cense to visit your homes at will, in squads or singly. Your property, your families are at their pleasure. Speak a word, if you dare. Defend your lives against a drawn, deadly weapon, and the first time we lay hands upon you, your necks shall be treated to a halter." That is the plain English of this infamous transaction. And let a peculiar aggravation be noted. This execu- tion of Mr. Creigh is not the wreaking of private, indivi- dual malice, nor an outbreak of popular vengeance. JS'o, it is the deliberate act of military authority. It passed through the hands of a military court, and was ajDj^roved by Gen- eral Hunter. This gives it great significance. This offi- cially justifies the lawless aggressor; and the act of defend- ing home and life by our citizens it pronounces a crime to be expiated upon the gallows. Ijct our people, our govern- ment, ponder this in their hearts. Again, let it be remarked, that this trial was a mere mockery. He was in their hands about three weeks; but neither witness nor counsel were allowed to appear in his behalf. And this in the case of a citizen, a man of the highest character. And, moreover, as the Yankee Con- gress has included Greenbrier county in their so-called AYest Virginia, Mr. Creigh was, in the contemplation of their DAVID S. CREIGH, THE WEST VIRGINIA MARTYR. 417 law^ one of their own citizens. Since the sun of heaven hid its face from the judicial murder of the Saviour of men, has it ever witnessed a fouler transaction at any tri- bunal, even the basest of earth. The verdict of the country will more than justify the act for which this excellent man has suffered death. In the letter of the Federal chaplain to Mrs. Creigh, he says: " He was condemned to die principally on his own confes- sion, together with corroborating circumstances." From this it would appear there was no witness against him. As to " corroborating circumstances," they amount to no- thing. The prisoner was not a man, when making a state- ment, to give any but a full and candid one. To call it a confession, is a misnomer. A confession is for the guilty. But Mr. Creigh, whilst owning the deed, vindicated its righteousness in the very face of the tribunal that mocked justice in his condemnation. What he justified, a candid world will applaud. Our enemies have long since found it a costly experiment to meet our brothers and sons in open battle. With a spirit as base as it is cowardly, they find a more congenial work in the plunder of our homes. What cannot be carried away, or boxed up and sent North is broken or burned. This wanton destraction of the most costly furniture has been the fate of once splendid mansions, now counted in their ruins, thousands upon thousands. Some of their own papers have fastened the guilt of this vandalism upon our enemies. JN'orthern habi- tations are filled with the costl}^ property of Southern gentlemen, not captured lawfully in war, but literally and shamelessly plundered, and now kept for the eye of ad- miring visitors, as illustrating the character of " the most refined and religious people," also of '' the best govern- ment in the world ! " They expect to encounter only old men, women and children. The extent to which this de- vastation has gone is hardly imagined, as yet, outside of the Confederate States. We verily believe had this fiend- 18* 418 DAVID S. CREIGH, THE WEST VIRGINIA MARTYR. ish spirit met at first, in every Southern home, a David S. Creigh, it would have been in a great measure averted. When the Gauls made an irruption into Rome, one of them went so far in the Senate as to pluck a con- script father by the beard. The hoary-headed patriot, fired at the indignity, instantly struck the intruder to the earth. Worthy of a deeper reverence is he who has, even with his own life, vindicated the sanctity of his home and the insulted honor of his family. " Then," said Judas Maccabeus, " it is better for us to die in battle than to be- hold the calamities of our people and our sanctuary." Tyrants should always raise up heroes. Such men as Da- vid S. Creigh are the barriers, the rocks that limit unjust aggression, and wicked violence. " A nation of free men, sacramented together, a joining of all hands, a knitting of all hearts, the cry of the valiant, that it is better to die ! These make the boundaries of rapine and desolation ; at these awful signs the robbers of the earth are appalled, and dread lest they should have provoked mankind enough." And now, all this detestable iniquity ; this dooming to death a citizen of exalted worth, and simply because he was true to the most sacred obligations of a husband and father — for an act which virtue commends from one end of the earth to the other : to call this by any other name than murder is to destroy the use of language, and con- found all just distinctions among men. l^o wonder those soldiers stood aghast at the crime, and called it by its right name — murder. Ko wonder the chaplain, ]VIr. Osborn, spoke of it to Xr. Creigh's venerable pastor in terms of abhorrence. When Hunter's army, in their flight from avenging justice, were passing, like vast packs of famished wolves, through Greenbrier county, this chaplain called upon Dr. McElhenny — the interview, as we understand, having: reference to the traojical fate of his beloved friend and elder. Upon being invited at its close to partake of DAVID S. CREIGH, THE WEST VIRGINIA MARTYR. 419 dinner, (a comfort presumed to have been greatly needed,) he declined the hospitality, saying that, '•' after what had taken place, he could not eat in a Southern man's house ; and that Providence had seemed to be against them ever since." It will be a comfort to remember that our countryman and brother never for a moment cowered before the wretches who stained their hands in his blood. It needed no testimony from the chaplain, or from himself to assure US of this. It belonged to the noble nature of the man, to his Christian faith, and his innocence of crime, to meet the power of military assassins calmly, firmly — hrs trust in God, his hope in heaven. A large and happy family, a wide circle of devoted friends are deeply stricken by this event. The shock upon the public mind is great. If this admission gratifies the perpetrators of the deed, or their sympathizers, let them take it as part of the inheritance of those who " enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season.'^ It has pleased Him whose "ways are past finding out," often to allow His best peo- ple to be " delivered into the hands of wicked men." His own most holy and beloved Son was not an exception. But faith assures us that while, to our apprehension, He does or permits many things strangely and darkly, He really and ever doeth all things wisely and well. No malice, no device, in the mode of his death, can cast the faintest stain upon his good name. A stain ! No, the name of David S. Creigh is from this day sacred to hia country, sacred in its history. The spot where he met his fate shall be marked for the reverence of generations co come. And a public monument by the graves of his kin- dred shall attest the admiration of his country for a man whose crowning honor it is, that by Federal authority he was martyred for defending his own home from plunder, his own family from insult, and his own life from violence. " The memory of the just is blessed." 420 DAVID S. CREIGU, THE WEST VIRGINIA MARTYR. ^^ But the name of the wicked shall rot." The justice of this world (let the slumbering vengeance of God rest in His own hands) will have an account with the Federal Gen- eral, David Hunter, of Princeton, JSTew Jersey. He is the guilty wretch whose hands chiefly are red with the blood of this innocent man. We shall advert, for a moment only, to a name so justly hateful to the South — soon to become loathsome over the world. Of a parentage and training hopeful of better results, Satan has perverted him into one of the most fanatical, malignant, of deep-dyed Abolitionists. Witness his con- duct and despatches while bearing military rule uj^on the coast of South Carolina. Of an honored ancestry in Yirginia, his base nature revels upon her soil in the worst crimes known among men. Well attested facts brand him — First, as a cold-blooded murderer. He was the Federal military commander for Western Yirginia. Mr. Creigh was executed by his authority. Second, as an incendiary. It was by his order the torch was applied to the house of his kinsman, Andrew Hunter, Esq., of Charlestown, and to the house of ex-Gov. Letcher, of Lexington, both private property. The full impression of the enormity of this wickedness cannot be reached without reading the letter of Governor Letcher. Third, as a liar. Witness his treachery in violating his explicit promise of protection to Mrs, Letcher, up to the very moment he poured camphene into her bureau, and set her house in flames, as she struggled in vain to rescue a scanty supply of raiment from destruction. It was only what might be expected that one so lost to all sense of shame should, as soon as first confronted by an equal force at Lynchburg, turn and run like a coward to the Ohio j and at a moment when famine and flight over more than two hundred miles of mountain-wilderness had well nigh an- nihilated his army, telegrai)hed to Washington that his DAVID S. CREIGH, THE WEST VIRGINIA MARTYR. 421 expedition had been eminently successful ! that his troops were in fine spirits, and after a few days' rest would be ready for any service needed ! " Ye are of your father, the devil, and the lusts of your father ye will do. He was a murderer from the beginning, and abode not in the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he speak- eth a lie^ he speaketh of his own : for he is a liar, and the father of it." Miserable, degraded creature ! It may be that no aveng- ing hand of man shall strike you with death. But you do well to remember what a mother's catechism taught you out of the Scriptures, that God will not suffer trans- gressors " to escape his righteous judgment." _ In the meantime you are to go forth with a mark upon your forehead deep as that upon Cain. From this day, the world over, the place of Hunter ^ the Murderer^ is by the side of Butler^ the Beast. p. s. — The following is a copy of a paper found in Mr. Creigh's pocket-book, and sent, with other things, by the chaplain, to Mrs. Creigh : " Charges and specifications against David S. Creigh : "Charge — Murder. Specification: That on or about the 8th of November, 1863, the same Creigh killed a sol- dier in his house, dressed in Federal uniform, name un- known. " Signed, A. Myers, Provost Marshal.'' Mr. Creigh's age was about fifty-four, and he was the father of eleven living children. PROCEEDINGS OF THE SESSION OF THE LEWISBURG CHURCH. At a meeting of the Session of the Lewisburg Church, on the 4th of July, 1864 — Present — Rev. John McElhenny, T>. D., Moderator ; Rev. J. C. Barr, Assistant Pastor ; Sam'l Price, Chas L. 422 DAVID S. CREIGH, THE WEST VIRGINIA MARTYR. Peyton, Thomas Matthews, James Withrow, Mark L. Spotts, and James N. Montgomery, Elders. The committee appointed to prepare resolutions com- memorative of our brother, David S. Creigh, made the following report, which was unanimously adopted : Whereas, By the inscrutable decrees of Divine Provi- dence, we are called upon to mourn the death of a brother in the Eldership, David S. Creigh, Esq., who was called out of existence under most distressing circumstances, on the 11th day of June, 1864, near Brownsburg, Eockbridge county, Virginia. 1. Resolved^ That, as the deceased was born and raised in this village, and had spent his whole life among us, we had peculiar opportunities of knowing him in all the rela- tions of life. To a lofty integrity, he joined an unswerving truth ; to the noble qualities of a gentleman, he added the noble qualities of a Christian. These he illustrated in his daily walk and conversation. He had many friends and few enemies, because he was emphatically a Christian gen tleman. 2. Resolved, That the loss of such a citizen and brother would, under any circumstances, be most keenly felt ; but the tragic end he suffered, adds peculiar anguish to the pain the event has inflicted. 3. Resolved, That we have the most satisfactory evidence of his preparation for death, furnished us not only by his Christian life of piety and zeal, but the unshaken confi- dence in his Eedeemer, and that blessed peace of mind with which he met death. The letter which he wrote to his family in his last hours, as well as the testimony of the chaplain and others, that were witnesses of the terrible tragedy, assure us that he was sustained by an unfaltering trust in his covenant-keeping Grod, and the hope of a glo- rious immortality. And although we cannot understand the mysterious Providence by which a citizen of such ele- DAVID S. CREIGH; THE WEST VIRGINIA MARTYR. 423 vated character, a Christian of such a blameless life, and an officer so useful in the Church, should be cut down un- der circumstances so appalling, yet our faith teaches us to wait the issues of Him who does all things well for His people. 4. Resolved, That we tender to his bereaved family our tenderest sympathy in this heart-rending affliction, and request the Clerk of the Session to furnish Mrs. Creigh with a copy of these resolutions. By order of the Session, James N. Montgomery, Clerk. MURDER OF DAVID S. CREIGH, OF GREENBRIER, BY HUNTER. The following is the action of the County Court of Greenbrier, in regard to the brutal murder of this esti- mable gentleman by the savage, Hunter; Virginia : At a court held for G-reenbrier county, at the Court House thereof, on Monday, the 25th day of July, 1864— Ordered, That the following preamble and resolutions be spread upon the record : Whereas, In His mysterious providence, Cod has per- mitted our fellow-citizen and colleague, David S. Creigh, to be torn from his home and friends, and put to death by a ruthless enemy, being denied the presence and advice of his family or friends before the midnight tribunal that wrested him from us, having no one permitted to appear in his be- half, no evidence allowed him in defence of the charge against him, and even refused the burial rights accorded to the most degraded of mankind : Therefore, 1. Resolved, That in the County Court of Greenbrier, in regular session, in behalf of the people of the county, and as associates of David S. Creigh, express and record the proceedings in his case, as unprecedented, unlawful, un- 424 THE prisoner's dream. just and inhuman, wholly and entirely incompatible with the course and usages of all civilized men or governments. 2. Resolved, That we bear our testimony to the distin- guished worth of our late associate on the bench, to his high character and standing in all the relations of life ; possessing a sound judgment and intelligent mind, a lofty integrity that nothing could bend from the path of duty and rectitude, together with the highest qualities of a Christian gentleman, was fitted in every way for rendering distino-uished service as a citizen. As a faithful and lonsr- tried member of this Court, we cherish for his memory the most respectful regard and warmest affection. 3. Resolved, That we tender our deepest sympathies to his bereaved wife and children, to whom he was the best of husbands and the most affectionate and considerate of fathers. 4. Resolved, That a copy of these resolutions be sent to his bereaved family, and that they be published in the Eich- mond and Lynchburg papers. A copy — test : Joel McPherson, Clerh C^^ prisoner's grtam. BY COL. B. H. JONES. I DREAMED 'twas the Sabbath day, Letitia, The sky serene and blue. And Peace smiled on our land, Letitia, Land of the brave and true. We sat in the old stone church, Letitia;j Each in a sej)arate pew ; THE prisoner's DREAM. 425 As we sat in the " long ago," Letitia, When I was courting you. Yonr glance was downward cast, Letitia, Your eyes, so softly blue, Shone not as once they shone, Letitia, Bright sparkling as the dew. And I thought that I could trace, Letitia, A shade of saddest hue. Steal o'er your artless face, Letitia, That falsehood never knew. I wondered if your thoughts, Letitia, Like mme, had backward flown, To days when only flowers, Letitia, Were in your pathway strewn. I wondered ('twas very wrong, Letitia, Such light thoughts in a pew,) If you e'er indulged a wish, Letitia, I had not married you. Or if you queried much, Letitia, (A heavy sigh you drew,) *' Would I go courting again, Letitia, If I were rid of you ? " While thus I sat and mused, Letitia, Forgetting " Father Mac," * You turned — a glance you threw, Letitia, That set me all aback. For your warm, bright smile met mine, Letitia, And quick as lightning flew * Rev. John McElhenny, now in his 87th year, and who has presided over the Presbyterian Church at Lewisburg, \V. Va., 5V years. The term used is not uncommon among those who attend his ministry, and is one of aflfection rather than disrespect. 426 THE prisoner's dream. To me the thoughts that were yours, Letitia, As quickly mine to you. The effect was lightning-quick, Letitia, And thrilled me through and through ; You smiled — I laughed aloud, Letitia, And roused all " Number Two." * Alas, gone was the spell, Letitia, Sweet dream of love and home ! For far from you to-day, Letitia, These prison bounds I roam. 'Tis a bright, sweet Sabbath morn, Letitia, And in the old church gray, Sad and forlorn you'll sit, Letitia, And think of me to-day. You will think of " auld lang syne," Letitia. A fancied voice of yore Will music make in your heart, Letitia, Like waves make on the shore. You'll feel a painful throb, Letitia, There in your mother's pew ; And tears will spring unbid, Letitia, Wrung from your heart so true. For I may not sit again, Letitia, With you in the old church gray; Nor have your sunny smile, Letitia, More on my weary way. But there is a blessed clime, Letitia, Far from this world of woe. Where fadeless flowers bloom, Letitia, And ceaseless fountains flow. * The room of the writer in the prison at Johnson's Island. AN INVOCATION. Where prison-circling waves, Letitia, Break not upon the shore ; Where peace shall ever reign, Letitia, And men *' learn war no more." There the wicked trouble not, Letitia, In that fair clime so blest ; There the parted loved ones meet, Letitia, And there the weary rest. Johnson's Island, Nov. 1864. 427 %n Intoratbtt, BY COL. W. S. HAWKINS. Come thou sweet friend, and cheer awhile The brooding gloom of prison walls, Where thought repressed to sorrow calls, And even joy forgets to smile. Five weary moons have waxed and waned Since I was free — you know how free ; I hardly dreamed such time would be. Ere I once more my hope had gained. Pive dullest moons, in which I saw The winter pause in northward flight," Spread seven times his robes of white. And then give way to April's thaw. Next came the hours when earth was green, You said — for these sad eyes could not See anywhere a garden spot, Nor look on any sylvan scene. 428 AN INVOCATION. Then April, tired of shine and shower, Awoke the fair and lissome May; In dusky dell she slumberous lay, And every feature seemed a flower. With smiles she came, and blithe birds sang, And 60 a myriad swelliug throats Poured forth their chime of grateful notes, And with sweet trills the woodlands rang. And next was June, in stately pride ; Love's countersign she knoweth well; She is Time's fairest sentinel, With ruddy cherubs by her side. Thou dainty May, more strong, more dear. To prouder, truer glories born. The ripening fruit, the springing corn — June is my month, of all the year ! Your life with pleasure ripples now ; For you can go each dewy morn, Spring's daintiest picture you adorn, And watching o'er the mountain's brow, Can see earth deck her graceful form, And, bird-like, don her best array To meet her winsome lord, the day. And all her face with blushes warm, Mantles and glows to perfect life. As sun-light swells with radiant surge, And from your mind sweet thoughts emerge— Your mind, with fond love thinkings rife. 'Tis yours to see the great trees toss Their heads, and sportiveness employ. And shake at every gust with joy, Their broad leaves flecked with green and gloss. AN INVOCATION. 429 And you can hear the jubilant strain, When tuneful bird on wing that whirrs The summer drowsy stillness stirs, And throbbing echoes sing again. And watch the days in joy arrayed, Each tripping coyly in its path, Like Beauty dripping from her bath, Far seen thro' woodland's glinting shade. 'Tis yours to linger by the stream. And, looking in the pool's deep breast. To see your beauties all confessed — How like indeed to poet's dream ; 'Tis yours, my glorious Passion flower ! At this sweet season to appear Like maiden from enchanted mere. And bless for me each tardy hour. So rose a JS'aiad from the Avave, That parted to her wounded form, And soothed with loveliness the storm. And to the fount new beauty gave. So some magician's mystic might Evoked from out his mirror's face A shape so luminous with grace. That all his darkened vow was light. There is no gracious Naiad here, Nor have I mirror wondrous fine ; But I have thee, sweet friend of mine. To help me with thy influence, dear. 'Tis mine, through thee, to see the Spring, And feel its odorous happy thrills ; With thee go up the wooded hills, And hear the choirs of nature sing. 430 AN INVOCATION. 'Tis mine to dream my pains away, And with thy helping, oft renew The pleasures I would share with you, Of blooming June — of vanished May. But no such scenes my vision greet, Pent up when glares the white-washed wall, Where summer's sultriest glances fall. And bare lies all the beaten street. O narrow wall ! how oft the tread Of captive forms, that knew no rest, On all your grassless length has pressed. And every step kept time with dread. Por here at silent hour of eve. And in the depths of starless gloom, Dead hopes come forth from out their tomb, • The prisoner's heart to haunt and grieve. O bounded sky ! what weary eyes A thousand times have looked to you, As with each slow hour trouble grew, And life put on a sombre guise. Ah, deep and distant skies of June, Which erst I saw when I was free ! Why come ye not once more to me With gorgeous sun and tender moon ? 'Tis not yon sky, my June, that bends Above me now its narrow arc. Whose very brightness seemeth dark. Whose noon-day gleam with mid-night blends. For here, there sings no summer bird, No sights of dewy freshness come, No flowers smile, no wild bees hum, E'en fancy's face with tears are blurred. AN INVOCATION. 431 Here gloom and glee make wondrous strife ; The brightest days are cast with cloud j The infant hope soon finds a shroud, And sorrow ploughs the fields of life. Though in the past I bind my sheaves, The songs of olden times are missed ; ]^o ivory keys with fingers kissed, For memory all my music weaves. Life's first sweet notes for me are gone ; As by the sea some wandering child Goes near the surges lashing wild. And seeks with eagerness the tone. That thrilled with joy his dreamy ear, But only finds the curling wave And whispering shell, his music's grave, And lures its sigh so far, so near. Then lost in that faint phantom charm. The elfin sounds of never more, Tho' dangerous billows beat the shore. Stands heedless of their power to harm. And yet some pleasures still remain Forever in this living tomb, Some joys their little lights relume. And fainting hopes rise firm again. For when I hear each thundering gun That shakes Virginia's forests far, AVhere whilom friends in fury war, Each throb to me means victory won. I think of volleying musketeers That form along the Georgian vales. Where no heart quakes, no spirit fails. And fling away my qualmish fears. 432 AN INVOCATION. So after many a weary day, Some swimmer in the swirling sea, Where only skies and surges be. Through the horizon dim and gray, Sees break at last the gradual morn, Just as his strength almost gives out, And jeering ocean-creatures shout. And in him ghastly fear is born ; Sees far away the dim shore-line Over the hurtling waters loom, And all his being burst in bloom, As forests wave and cities shine ; And almost hears each hurrying friend, With eager questioning of the lost So long by crested billows tost, And shouts of joy the zenith rend. Thus I revive ; but feel, dear one. That whether on the land or sea. And I in camps or prison be, Thy star shall shine till life is done. Come, then, and tint these darker days. And let each sun in gold go down ; Come, crown me with the friendship's crown, And take these feeble words of praise. Touch all my life with thy soft kiss. At that sweet thought the shadows fly ; And fostering it, I feel that I Thy form in heavenly courts would miss. "Mi Consuelo," true and bright. When thou art gone my peace is furled. And daylight shuts along the world. And round me falls the brooding night. LIEUT. J. E. DOOLEY, OF VIRGINIA. 43 'Tis thine to ease this crown of thorn, And pour some wine in misery's cup ; Help weak hope, build her towers up. And light my prison world with morn. And when the immortal shore we tread, Together shall we join our strains. Together roam those shining plains, Where God's eternal peace is shed. Q Lieut. John E. Dooley was born at Richmond, Va., July llth, 1842. He was in the twentieth year of his age when he entered the Confederate army. He joined Company D., of the First Virginia Infantry, as a private, and was promoted for gallant conduct in the second battle of Manassas, where he rescued his wounded Colonel (the gallant Fred. Skinner,) whom he had closely followed in a daring charge against a Federal Battery, which was taken at the point of the bayonet. He was engaged in all the princi- pal battles, from the fights around Richmond in 1862, to that at Gettys- burg, in July, 1863. In the last named battle, he was shot through his thighs, and left for dead upon the field. Falling into the hands of the Federals, he was first conveyed to Fort McHenry, thence to Camp Chase, and finally to Johnson's Island, where he remained until March, 1865, when he was released upon parole. Being at Lynchburg, Va., at the time of Gen. Lee's surrender, he started on foot to join Gen. Joe Johnston's command ; but finding, after he had traveled the entire distance, that Gen. Johnston had also surrendered, he again took up his line of march, still on foot, for the Trans-Mississippi ; but soon learning the fate of the Confederacy in that quarter, he returned to his home, and shortly after, in pursuance of a determination formed before the beginning of the war, he entered the Jesuit Society, and is now qualifying himself to perform the duties de- volving upon him as one of the order. - 19 434 LIEUT. J. E. DOOLEY, OF VIRGINIA. THE DEATH OF WILLIA:\I H. MITCHEL, YOUNGEST SON OF JOHN MITCHEL, THE IRISH PATRIOT AND EXILE, — KILLED AT GETTY8BUEG. BY LIEUT. J. E. DOOLEY. So bright in his genius — so bright in his youth, Grone to his grave ! ISTo sister to tend him, no mother to soothe ; No arm to save ! Eushing to victory, cheering he fell, Gasping for breath, — Fell 'mid the cannon and shrill bursting shell, Showering death ! Faintly he heareth the cannon's hoarse roar — Calmly he dies ! Lies on the battle-field bathed in his gore, Never to rise ! Still 'mid confusion, rout and dismay — Still in Death's arms ! Closed are his eyes 'neath the sun's scorching ray, Closed to Life's charms ! Passing from earth, in the morning of life, Sweetly he slumbered ! Gone to his God ! Never more, in our strife. Again to be numbered ! Deep buried, beneath red Gettysburg's plain. Weep o'er his grave ! Where green rustling corn, and bright yellow grain, Murmuring wave ! Far from his mother and sisters he died : Oh, stranger revere SENTINEL SONGS. 435 A father or brother iiDable to hide, Tears they shed here ! No tall, marble shaft, adorning his grave, Tells of his fame ; But his warrior friends lamenting his grave. Think on his name ! Fresh be his mound ! Let the green turf be spread, Fragrant and sweet! May the Angels of Heaven pillow his head At Jesus' feet. ^mtmd Songs, BY FATHER RYAN. When sinks the soldier brave, Dead at the feet of Wrong-, The poet sings — and guards his grave With sentinels of song. " Go, Songs " — he gives command — " Keep faithful watch and true; The living and dead of the conquered land, Have now no guards save you." " And Ballads ! mark ye well, — Thrice is your holy trust ; • Go out to the fields where warriors fell. And Sentinel their dust." 436 SENTINEL SONGS. And the songs, in stately rhyme, With softly sounding tread, March forth — to watch till the end of time Beside the silent dead. And when the foeman's host And hate have passed away, Our guards of Songs shall keep their post Around our soldiers' clay. A thousand dawns may glow, A thousand days may wane, The deathless songs where the dead lie low, True to the last, remain. Yes, true ! They will not yield To tyrants or to time. At every grave and on ev'ry field. Where men die deaths sublime. Lone vigils they will keep. Obedience to their Bard, And they will watch when we shall sleep — Our last and only Guard. What though their victors say, No column shall be built Above the graves where the men in Grey Lie mouldering in their guilt ? Ah ! let the tyrants curse The dead he tramples down ! Our strong, brave songs, in their sweet sad verse, Fear not the tyrant's frown. What though no sculptured shaft Commemorate our Brave ? What though no monument epitaphed Be built above their grave ? CAPTAIN S. YATES LEVY, OF FLORIDA. 437 When marble wears away, And monuments are dust. The Songs that guard our soldiers' clay Will still fulfill their trust. Knoxville, May Gth, 1867. BY MAJOR S. YATES LEVY. Born Sept. 14th, 1827, at Charleston, South Carolina, his paternal grandfather was a Polander, who came over during our Revolutionary struggle. His grandmother was an English lady, as was also his mother, who, prior to her marriage, was a Miss Yates, of Liverpool. He graduated at South Carolina College, Columbia, in 184T. He quali- fied himself for the practice of the law under his brother-in-law, Hon. P. Phillips, of Mobile, Alabama, was admitted to the bar in 1849, and shortly afterwards removed to Savannah, Georgia. He was successful in his pro- fession, and in 1852, married Miss Myers, of Marietta, Georgia. In 1855 he wrote "The Italian Bride," a play in five parts, for Miss Eliza Logan. It was successfully acted all over the United States. On the approach of the war, he raised a volunteer company, (the '* City Light Guard of Savannah,") 1st Volunteer Regiment of Georgia, and was mustered into the Confederate service August 6, 1861. He was employed in various duties on the Georgia coast, principally in heavy artillery, was made Judge- Advocate of General Court Martial, and was twice compli- mented for efficiency by General Beauregard, in General Orders. Grow- ing tired of such service, he petitioned to be sent to the front, and was ordered to General Joseph E. Johnston's command, then falling back from Dalton, Georgia. He participated in some hard fighting, in which he dis- played conspicuous gallantry. On the night of 18th June, 1864, he, with sixteen others, were sent out on picket duty, with orders to hold his post to the last extremity, and tight every inch of ground. He did so. The 438 CAPTAIN S. YATES LEVY, OF FLORIDA. army fell back, the skirmish line was withdrawn without notice to Major Levy; he was surrounded and captured. His commission as Major was issued on the daj of his capture. He was carried to Johnson's Island, where he remained until the close of the war. Upon his release, he re- turned to Savannah, where he resumed the practice of his profession, and is meeting with marked success. In politics, Major Levy was and is a Democrat of the State Rights School. A PEAYEE FOE PEACE. BY MAJOR S, Y. LEVY. Almighty God ! Eternal Sire and King ! Euler Supreme! who all things didst create; Whose everlasting praise the Angels sing ; Whose word is mercy, and whose thought is fate ! Trembling before Thy awful throne we kneel, Beseeching mercy at Thy gracious hand ; Praying that in compassion Thou wilt heal The bleeding wounds of this most suffering land ! We know our sins are manifold, O Lord ! And that Thine anger 'gainst us is but right ; For we have wandered widely from Thy Word, And things committed wrongful in Thy sight. But Thou, O Lord ! art powerful to save. And full of mercy — full of love art Thou ; Else had we not the courage thus to brave. Thy righteous wrath — thus at Thy feet to bow 1 O'er all our fields, where late the joyous air Struck rustling music from the waving grain, Xow the sad earth is lying stark and bare — Or groans beneath the burden of our slain. In sack-cloth robed, disconsolate and wild. With ashes strewed upon her lovely breast, CAPTAIN S. YATES LEVY, OF FLORIDA. 439 Our country mourns her hearths and homes defiled — Weeps for her bravest and bewails her best. From many hearths, where lately genial fires Beamed over scenes of innocent delight, The little children vainly call their sires, Or fly their burning homes with wild affright. Our punishment is very hard to bear ; We droop and faint beneath our chast'ning rod ; Oh, list in mercy to our earnest prayer, And move thine anger from us, O our God ! Throw, Lord, Thy buckler thick 'twixt us and harm ; Bid the destruction and the carnage cease ; Outstretch, in power. Thine all-protecting arm ; Eoll back the clouds of war, and give us Peace ! And as Thou led'st Thy chosen people forth From Egypt's sullen wrath, O, King of Kings, So smite the armies of the giant l^orth. And bear us to our hopes on eagle's wings I But if Thy wisdom still defer the day — The wished-for day our freedom shall be won — Oh, give us the humility to say, "]N"ot human will, but Thine, O Lord, be done I " 440 FEDERAL POLICY AND NORTHERN PRISONS. J^^bmil flolicg anb Hortljcnx prisons. We select the folio win 2: extracts from an able and well written article which first appeared in the Southern Re- view. These startling revelations and the recent expose made by the Commissioner of Exchange for the Con- federate States, taken together, throw a flood of light on the cruel treatment of Confederate prisoners by the Federal authorities. — Ed. Some years have elapsed since the final release of thou- sands of men who had been made prisoners of war during the long continued contest between the North and the South. Some few accounts have, from time to time, been published of the treatment of Confederate soldiers in par- ticular Northern forts and prisons, though no general com- parison has ever been made of the condition of the captives in the respective prisons of the then existing Governments. Southern men have had little opportunity to defend them- selves, and the Confederate Government has ceased to be. No occasion, however, has been neglected and no means have been spared, on the part of Northerners and of the Fed- eral administration, to vilify the South and to cast a stigma on the name of its most irreproachable men. The incidents of the trial of Captain AYerze, for a long time in charge of the Andersonville prison in Georgia, by a military com- mission in \yashington in the autumn of 1865, the record of which has been carefully preserved and widely dissem- inated, afford abundant evidence of this malignant spirit. In their eagerness, however, to condemn others, the prin- cipal actors in this Star Chamber trial have condemned themselves. Their wickedness has recoiled on their own heads. The execution of Captain Werze was a disgrace to the administration at Washington. It must forever FEDERAL POLICY AND NORTHERN PRISONS. 441 remain a stain upon the annals of the age. The men who sentenced him, Generals Lew Wallace, Underwood, Geary, Gershom, Mott, Thomas and others, have, together with Colonel Chipman, the Judge Advocate, rendered their names as odious as that of the infamous Jeffries ; and the high magistrate who approved the findings of the court, and permitted its execution, was himself guilty of a weak- ness that was wicked, and for which there was no reason- able palliation. No one who has read the proceedings in this infamous trial, who has seen how one indictment was deliberately altered, after being systematically prepared and regularly made, without any notice at all being given to the counsel for the defense ; who has noted how the proceedings were conducted in violation of all law and precedent, and how the counsel, Messrs. Hughes, Denver, and Peck, who were first retained, withdrew from a court which proceeded in so extraordinary a manner, convinced that they could do justice neither to their client nor to themselves ; no one who has noticed how, as the trial proceeded, nearly every objection on the part of Judge Advocate Chipman was sustained, and nearly every objection on the part of the prisoner's counsel was overruled ; how the witnesses on the one side were not only encouraged, but permitted to introduce hearsay evidence, and even to testify as to their impressions, while the timid witnesses for the prisoner were brow-beaten and bullied, and the more fearless ones imprisoned, and not allowed to testify at all, and how ac- cess to public documents was denied to the counsel for the defence, and accorded to the prosecution ; no one who has noted these things can honestly doubt for one moment that this friendless man was condemned from the hour he was arraigned. The cry of a political mob was yielded to, and he was given up a victim to their violence and brutality. *' His blood be upon their heads, and upon their children." Bat behind all this there was a hidden purpose on the 19* 442 FEDERAL POLICY AND NORTHERN PRISONS. part of the administration, which it failed to accomplish. The real object of the trial was not so much the convic- tion of Werze, as the implication of Mr. Davis and General Lee in an imaginary plot to torture Federal prisoners, to withhold from them clothing, to deprive them of food, to poison them with foul water, and, by deliberate and atrocious barbarity and cruelty, to murder' them as rapidly as possible. The utter failure of this design can excite no surprise. Even the bitterest enemies of Mr. Davis cannot stain his name with such reproach as this ; and those who know aught of General Lee can but smile at such an attempt to defame his high character. The people of the ]^orth sought to subjugate the South, not by civilized warfare, but by savage atrocity, by fire as well as sword, by ruthless cruelty and inhuman torture. They condemned thousands of captive men to months of dreary prison confinement for the purpose of draining the life from the South, and of rendering it unable to do battle against the North. And they persisted in their refusal to exchange prisoners with this intention, and for this pur- pose. This fixct has been fully confirmed by the disclosure by General Butler of the instructions received by him from General Grant. General Grant wrote him that he was determined that the South should not have a man, and directed him to make any pretext he chose, but on no account to grant an exchange of prisoners. If any doubts exist on this subject in the minds of im- partial men, they will be put at rest by the testimony of the Confederate Agent of Exchange, whose reputation as a high-toned gentleman is, in itself, a sufficient guaranty of the truth of the statement. In January, 1864, he wrote to Major General E. A. Hitchcock, commissioner of exchange : "Inview^of the present difficulties attending the exchange and release of prisoners, I propose that all such on each side FEDERAL POLICY AND NORTHERN PRISONS. 443 Bliall be attended by a proper number of their own surgeons, who, under rules to be established, shall be permitted to take charge of their health and comfort. I also propose that these surgeons shall act as Commissaries, with power to receive and distribute such contributions of money, food, clothing and medicines as may be forwarded for the relief of prisoners. I further propose that these surgeons be selected by their own Grovernment, and that they shall have full liberty at any and all times, through the Agents of Exchange, to make reports, not only of their own acts, but of any matters relating to the welfare of the prison- ers." " To this communication no reply of any kind was ever made. I need not state how much suffering and misrep- resentation would have been prevented, if this offer had been met in the spirit in which it was dictated. Just one year afterwards, to wit, on the 24th of January, 1865, the proposition was renewed to Greneral Grant, but no notice was taken of it by him. " Before the battle of Grettysburg, the Confederates held a majority of prisoners, and continued to send them off as fast as the United States authorities furnished transporta- tion. After that time the Federals had a majority, and they refused to deliver according to the requirements of the Cartel, offering, however, to exchange officer for officer and man for man, thus leaving the excess in confinement. This was resisted by the Confederate authorities, as being in open violation of the Cartel, until about the summer of 1864, when the latter relinquished their rights under the Cartel, and offered to accept the proposition of the ex- change of officer for officer and man for man. Thereupon the Federal authorities retreated from their offer and de- clined even to exchange officer for officer and man for man. Under this latter proposal, quite a large surplus would have remained in Northern prisons, owing to the excess held by the United States. In this state of affairs, I was 444 FEDERAL POLICY AND NORTHERN PRISONS. instructed by the Confederate authorities to offer to the United States government their sick and wounded, with- out requiring any equivalents. Accordingly, in the sum- mer of 1864, I did offer to deliver from ten to fifteen thou- sand sick and wounded at the mouth of the Savannah Biver, without requiring any equivalents, promising the United States Agent, that if the number for which he might send transportation could not be made up from sick and wounded, I would supply the difference with well men. " Although this offer was made in the summer of 1864, transportation was not sent to the Savannah River until December, and then I delivered as many prisoners as could be transported, amongst which were more than five thou- sand well men. Move than once I urged the mortality of Andersonville, as a reason for haste on the part of the United States. " About the same tiine — that is, in the summer of 1864 — the Surgeon-General of the Confederate States informed me that he was almost entirely destitute of medicines, re- questing me to offer to make purchases of medicines from the United States authorities, to be used exclusively for the relief of Federal prisoners. On the first opportunity, I did make such proposal, offering to pay gold, cotton, or tobacco for them, and even two or three prices if required. At the same time, I gave assurances that the medicines would be used exclusively in the treatment of Federal prisoners, and moreover agreed, if it was insisted on, that such medicines might be brought into the Confederate lines by United States surgeons and dispensed by them. To this offer, like unto the first, I never received any reply." In every large prison in the North, cruelty was system- atically practiced for the purpose of forcing prisoners to take the oath of allegiance to the Federal Government, or in case of their refusal, of enfeebling their health to such FEDERAL POLICY AND NORTHERN PRISONS. 445 an extent as to render them unfit for military service on their return to the South. During the trial of Captain Werze, the names of witnesses were handed by Mr. Bak-'^ the assistant counsel, to the Judge Advocate, to be ' ' moned to testify in behalf of the prisoner. It was i^'^ " ed to prove by them what was the customary r ^ ^ treatment of prisoners in the Northern forts. ^ ^^ witness, however, appeared. Since the close of ^^^ . ' it has been ascertained that the subpcenas fo^'^^^® ^^ ' nesses were never issued. They were suppr'^ .^ Judge Advocate. It was not proper that s^^ testimony should see the light. Judge Advocate Cb'^^^^ ^^^ ^^^^® publicly admitted that he also refused -" ^^^^ subpcenas issued for a few "Eebel " Functionarif ^^^^^^ testimony was considered important for the r'^'ence. How many the Judge Advocate considered " a -^^ '' it is hard to say. We know, however, that General ^^e was among them. His name had been stricken fror the list of those with whom Captain Werze had origir^% ^een accused of con- spiring. He must have been regarded as a perfectly com- petent witness by any court in>-he world, and his evidence was more material to the accused than that of all the other witnesses together. His woaid The costly tax of Fame. The boyhood home of "Washington — His mother's tomb is there ; And all that citv's sons are brave, Her daughters pure and fair. Out from the western hills there stretched A broad and fertile plain, Whose waving wealth they'd reap'd and sent In succor o'er the main. Their aid was not in polished phrase And words of soft pretence ; But ample gifts from ample stores Struck down the pestilence. Now twenty years have passed away, And by the hoof of hell The fields are trampled, and the town Is wrecked by shot and shell. Eehold ! Marye's smooth front is changed, A frown is on its face ; And grimly calm the Georgian waits By the rock wall at its base. Hark ! whence that wild and fierce " Huzza " ? What flag that flaunts before ? 'Tis " :Meao;h'rs Brigade ! " And Erin thus Repays the debt of yore ! THE VOICES OF THE WINDS. 479 See ! thinned and broken, back they reel, And loud our brave boys shout ; The Seventh, ha ! their shattered ranks Recoil in final rout ! I pity not that bloody field, Where Death, where anguish rages, "Where retribution pays at last The mercenary's wages. Thus ever comes the ingrate's doom, In His good time alone ; " Yengeance is mine ; I will repay I •' O Lord, Thy will be done 1 ^t a^0i«s of tlj« mtnan. BY MAJ. S, YATES LEVY, OF GEORGIA. Folded in the thoughtful mantle, Night around the wretched binds j Close I lay and eager listened. To "the voices of the winds" — Passing by. As they came from every quarter, Peeping through the lattice blinds, Like the ghosts of dead affections, Came the secret-telling winds — Passing by. 480 THE VOICES OF THE WINDS. And a voice within my bosom Answered to their mystic song; Answered to the restless breezes, As they floated soft along — Passing by. Mem'ry waking in the dreary, Gloomy caverns of despair. Heard the whispers, as they fluttered, In the night-enveloped air — Passing by. "With a soft and thrilling wailing, Spoke the}^ of affection's blight; And the dews of gentle Pity Trickled from the eyes of night — Passing by. Mem'ry struck with trembling fingers, On the harp of "Long Ago ; " And the notes, each asked a question, AVhat the bosom yearned to know — Passed away. " Where are all the friends of boj^hood, Spirits fraught with life and glee ? " And the winds in whispers answered, Like the murmurs of the sea — " Passed away." " Where's the maiden false and fickle. That I loved and cherished madly ? Is she happy ? " But the breezes Whisp'ring, answered, sighing sadly - " Passed away." Then in grief, I wept out loudly. For my heart was full of x>ain ; THE VOICES OP THE WINDS. 481 Echo, sighing, mourned the tidings, And repeated them again ; " Passed away ! " "Never yet hath man loved woman, As I loved you, Eosalie ; And my heart is sad to breaking, As the night winds breathe to me — " Passed away/ " " False you were, and fickle truly. And you wronged a loving soul ; But I weep for so much beauty — So much grace beyond control — " Passed away.' " All was dark when you forsook me ; All is as a night of gloom ; And my love for you resembles Withered flowers on a tomb — " Passed away." Thus, when night is all around me, Shielding me from every eye, Thus I mourn and grieve in silence, As I hear the night winds sigh — " Passed away." 21 482 PRIVATES IN THE RANKS. Irxfaaies xti iht |ianhs. BY LIEUT. E. C. MCCARTHY. No golden bar his collar wears, No epaulette or star, With glitter bright his mind to charm, Amid the din of war. But in his soul the sacred light Of Liberty burns clear and bright — The Private in the Eanks. And not to win the bar or stripe. He rushes to the fight ; But strong of arm, and stern of heart. He battles for the right. He knows no voice but duty's call. And breasts the bullets — stand or fall The Private in the Ranks. All, all have come — the nation's cry Has throbbed their hearts among ; And mother, wife and maiden fair. Must " suffer and be strong." The sire, with scarce a year to live, The boy with all his life to give. Are Privates in the Banks. And when the quick, electric flash Proclaims the battle done, How many hearts exulting throb, Another victory won ! And search the death lists eagerly, For names they'd rather die than see, Of Privates in the Banks ! THE TWO SIDES OF THE PRISON QUESTION. 483 The meed of praise we gladly give, To all who dare the scars, And care but little what they wear, Coarse gray, or stars and bars ; But most our love to those belongs, Who bravely right their country's wrongs, As Privates in the Hanks ! ^t Cfoa Siiri>s 0f ih f rismt ^lustion. BY COL. B. H. JONES. [Correspondence of the New York News,] West Yirginia, Dec. 8, 1865. For months we have borne the denunciations of our Northern enemies, based on our alleged cruel treatment of Federal prisoners during the war; and though smart- ing under the wrongs thus done us, we have studiously held our peace, for we thought it best that the past should, if possible, be forgotten. Our silence, however, seems to have served only as an incentive to continued and in- creased malevolence on the part of our traducers ; and we now feel that we should be false to our manhood were we to longer passively submit to their assaults. Abandoning, therefore, the meek doctrine of continued submission to continued wrong, we say, " an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth ! " Now, those who "live in glass houses should not 484 THE TWO SIDES OP THE PRISON QUESTION. throw stones." If the South had her Belle Isle, her Libby and her Andersonville, the North had her Camps Douglas, Morton and Chase — her Johnson's Island and her Rock Island, her Fort Delaware, Elmira and Point Lookout, and a fair investigation north of Mason and Dixon's Line, peradventure, might develop the equals of Winder, and Wirz, and Turner, granting that they were as brutal as represented. Your would-be-regarded saintly humani- tarians hold uj) their hands in aifected horror at the idea of " dead-lines," as though they were diabolical monstrosities of Southern origin. But we. do not intend that you shall cheat yourselves of the glory of such an invention. Camp Chase had her '* dead-line" before such a thing was dreamed of in the South. We got the idea from you, as we did slavery, and you are entitled to all the honors and emolu- ments of the original patentee. At Point Lookout, Camp Douglas, Camp Morton, Johnson's Island, and indeed at all your prisons, you had " dead-lines," and at all of them Confederate prisoners were shot, coolly and deliberately shot, for passing these lines. It was, moreover, not an unusual thing for Confederate prisoners to be fired on, and either killed or wounded while visiting the "sinks" at. night. I know that at Johnson's Island one officer was killed while quietly standing in the door of his quarters; and two of my messmates, Lieut. Dillard of Mississippi, and Lieut. Inman of North Carolina, were badly wounded one night in 18(j4, by the same ball : the first in the arm while passing to his bunk, the second in the shoulder while asleep in his bunk. There was no excuse for this outrage, as the lights were out and perfect quiet prevailed in the room. Next day, the commanding officer came in, got the names of witnesses, and intimated that the matter would be investigated, but we heard no more of it. It was common for our rooms to be fired into under the pretext that our lights were burning, when it was only the reflection upon THE TWO SIDES OP THE PRISON QUESTION. 485 our windows from the sentry lamps, and was repeatedly explained to both officers and men, without avail. Yet we were assured by the commandant that the men were ex- pressly charged not to fire at lights, but to call the officer of the guard. When we would call to the sentinel that our lights were out, and explain that it was merely the re- flection from the lamps, the answer would not unfrequently be, " You are a d d liar ! " I frequently heard the vilest epithets ever uttered by human mouths, applied to our officers' by the guard, upon slight provocations, and sometimes when there was no provocation at all. I knew this done in one instance by a Lieutenant, a Dutchman, in the Federal service, while calling the roll in a certain block. He applied the offensive language to the whole company, because some laughed at his awkward pro- nunciation of names, whereupon a Confederate Major stepped up to him, and assured him if he dared repeat it he would knock his teeth down his throat. It was not repeated. As a general rule, however, the officers were courteous to us. We were rarely maltreated by those who had been to the front ; but the men of the One Hundred and Twenty-eighth Ohio (with a few honorable exceptions,) had never heard a hostile gun, and were especially enlisted for guard duty, appeared to derive a peculiar pleasure from the abuse of helpless prisoners; it afforded so safe and ad- mirable an opportunity for an exhibition of their personal courage, and loyalty to the " Old Flag." Again, we were not allowed (until after the surrender of Lee,) under any circumstances, to have oral communica- tion with relations or friends. Extreme illness, — even ly- ing at the " point of death " — would not open the gate for the admission of a brother or a sister, a father, or mother, or wife. I have known a sister, a mother, a wife, who had traveled hundreds of miles, on reaching Johnson's Island, denied the privilege of an interview with a brother, a son, or a husband ; and I have seen the " loved ones " standing f 486 THE TWO SIDES Or THE PRISON QUESTION. far apart, gazing at each other and weeping as though their hearts would break, but not a word were they allowed to exchange, not a sign were they permitted to make. Under such circumstances, though perhaps a stranger to all the parties, the tears of sympathy have welled up in my own eyes; and I was not ashamed of them, for I too had "loved ones" away in "Dixie"! I learn that no such rule prevailed in Southern prisons. Another wrong : the sutlers, when allowed to sell at all, were allowed to practice upon the prisoners the most out- rageous extortion. They realized from two to three hun- dred per cent, upon their sales. Of course they made im- mense fortunes in a very short time ; and they were often changed. "Why ? I cannot tell, unless it was that as many as possible might fatten upon our misfortunes. I come now to the most painful feature connected with our imprisonment, that of starvation ; starvation, not in a land desolated and seared by invasion ; not in a land where the invader had proclaimed and carried out the policy of destroying every grain of wheat and every ounce of meat, and everything that tended to its production ; not in a land whose women and children were already perishing for bread, but starvation in a land that flowed with milk and honey, starvation in a land that had not only an abundance, but a superabundance even of the luxuries of life ! I think it was in November, 1864, that the sutler was ordered not to sell any more provisions to prisoners, and we were not allowed to receive any, except from near rela- tives in case of sickness, and that after an examination by the chief surgeon and upon his recommendation. Up to that period those who had friends outside had fared well, and had been enabled to minister to the necessities of their fellow-prisoners who had not ; for, to their eternal honor be it said, there were thousands in the United States who were liberal and generous toward Southern prisoners al- most to a fault. May God reward them ; we never can THE TWO SIDES OP THE PRISON QUESTION. 487 though each of us had the wealth of Croesus and were to live a thousand years ! But with "the orders alluded to came suffering, oh, what suffering 1 We were confined for months strictly to prison rations. No sugar, no coffee, no tea, only bread and salt beef, or salt pork, or salt fish, the latter as poor as poverty, and as unnutritious as pine shav- ings, varied occasionally with fresh beef, but never more than two-thirds enough of either. Occasionally we would get one onion, or one potato each, and an ounce or so of hominy. Many would consume the whole at one meal ; others thought it more wise to divide it into two or three meals, but all were hungry continually, Oh ! it is a terri- ble thing to be hungry from day to day, from week to week, from month to month, to be always hungry ! It is fearful to see three thousand men cooped up and undergo- ing such an ordeal ! Should it be a matter of surprise that men dwindled from 200 to 140 and 100 pounds ; that their eyes had a strange and eager expression ; that they grew pale, cadaverous ; that they walked with an unsteady gait ; that they all talked continually of " something to eat " ; of the good dinner, or breakfast, or suj^per they had at times and places that seemed very long ago and very far off; that they slept but to dream of sitting down to tables groaning with rich viands, where they ate and ate, and still could not be satisfied ; that with miserly care they picked up every crumb ; that they pounded up old bones and boiled them over and over, until they Avere as white as the driven snow ; that they fished in the swill barrel at the prison hospital ; that they greedily devoured rats and cats ; that they resorted to all manner of devices and tricks to cheat the surgeon out of a certificate ; that they became melancholy and dejected; that they fell an easy prey to disease and death ? Ah! there is many a poor fellow in his grave on Johnson's Island to-day who would not be there had he been allowed wholesome food and enough of it. Thousands died from over-eating, immediately after 488 THE TWO SIDES OF THE PRISON QUESTION. their release from Northern prisons, and thousands have returned to their homes with their health prematurely im- paired by long starvation. Kor were the authorities ignorant of this suffering. The Confederate surgeons, in the prison at Johnson's Isl- and, met and prepared a statement and sent it to the com- mandant, in which they feelingly and truthfully depicted our condition. They showed from tables prepared by sci- entific men, what quantity of a certain character of food was actually necessary to sustain healthy human existence, what was allowed by the order of the Commissary Gen- eral of Prisons, and what we received ; and that the latter was totally insufficient. A copy of this paper was also sent out in some way and found its way to the columns of The News, but all produced no change in the treatment of prisoners ; and The Sandusky Register, edited by a couple of Dutchmen, with unpronouncable names, as if to add in- sult to injury, boasted of the humane treatment awarded us by the United States Government, and cited in proof of the same that the sum of, I think, $30,000, constituting a prison fund, had been realized from the sale of rations that we had been unable to consume, and was then in charge of the commandant of the Island. How was this done? It must have been by shortening our rations before they were sent in to us, for there never was any surplus to send out. We then were systematically cheated, stinted and starved to raise this prison fund of $30,000 ; and what was done with it ? It was taken out of our stomachs ; it never was put on our backs ; what became of it ? This same sheet, which often applied to us the epithets, "Devils, demons" and "fiends," frequently alluded (in disparagement of the Confederate G-overnment) to the fact that we were all comfortably — many finely dressed as we passed through the city to be exchanged, or, when released at the close of the war. True, all were comfort- ably, many finally dressed on such occasions; but how THE TWO SIDES OF THE PRISON QUESTION. 489 came we by such clothing? Not as The Register made its dupes believe, by the liberality of the United States Gov- ernment, bat through the active sympathy of outside friends. They sent us the clothing, and we went meanly clad in prison, that we might present a respectable appear- ance should we return to " Dixie." I saw Confederate of- ficers made to stand on the head of a barrel placed near the main o-ate, and between the " dead line "and the prison wall for what were surely trivial offenses. I suppose it was intended to degrade them in the eyes of their fellows, but it only secured for them our sympathy. As well as I now remember Lieut. John U. Shorter, a son or nephew of the Hon. John Gr. Shorter, was one of the men thus punished. He is a gentleman in the most exalted sense of the term, and I have no hesitation in naming him, for I know he is not ashamed of his martyrdom. As to fires : by the strictest economy we managed to be tolerably comfortable last winter, notwithstanding in many instances from 50 to 60 men had the use of only one stove ; but there was much suffering the winter preceding ; the wood furnished being inferior in quality and deficient in quantity.. The ofiicers had either to be in their bunks or " double quick " to and fro in their quarters to keep from freezing. The weather was so severe that some were frost-bitten. I make no charsce against the commandant. I do not know to what extent his inclinations were hampered by instructions. I must say that his personal bearing toward us was always courteous, and that he seemed at least to feel kindly. The Chief Surgeon was freezingly polite. " We did not like you, Dr. Fell : The reason why ? we need not tell, But this we'd have you know right well ; We did not like you, Dr. Fell ! " The Assistant Surgeon was a humane gentleman. He could not turn a deaf ear to the appeals of a suffering 21* 490 THE TWO SIDES OF THE PRISON QUESTION. brother-man. God gave him a heart of flesh, not of mar- ble, and filled it with the " milk of human kindness." I have stated facts that can be sustained by a " cloud of* witnesses," and they are gentlemen of excellent intelligence and worth. Such having been the experience of commissioned offi- cers, from third lieutenants to major generals, at Johnson's Island, how did our private soldiers fare as prisoners of war? One Instance only, by way of answer. A North Carolina regiment, captured at Cumberland G-ap, went into Camp Douglas 500 strong. Upward of 200 of this number had diedthereup to March, 1865! I learned thisfrom the officers of the regiment at Johnson's Island, who were in regular communication with their men and had noted each death. Had these men'been well cared for? I have been also told by men who were confined at Kock Island that sys- tematic starvation was there resorted to, to force them to take the " oath ; " it was the oath, or death ! This is "a game at which two can play!" Doubt- less there were instances of bad treatment at the South, and the guilty parties deserve condemnation, for there is nothing more infamous than the abuse of a helpless pris- oner, and no one but a brutal coward would be guilty of such an outrage upon humanity ; but the North is not the party to bring such accusations against us. Her withers are not unwrung. Let her get the beam out of her own eye. The world will judge between us ; so will God. We fear not the judgment of either. We had provocations that you never had. We were invaded, wrongfully invad- ed, and we believed that we were right. Our orchards and fields were desolated ; our cities, towns, villages, and country houses sacked and given to the flames ; our per- sonal property, even to our very heir-looms, forced from us, and either destroyed before our eyes or sent North to grace the parlors or adorn the persons of those who waged war upon us ; our servants, raised and nurtured under our THE TWO SIDES OF THE PRISON QUESTION. 491 own roofs, were estranged from us and armed for our de- struction ; our sisters and daughters, our wives and mothers, were insulted and violated, and our greyhaired sires and grandsires beaten, and even killed, by a soldiery, thousands of whom, stimulated by love of gold, or still more hellish lust, swarmed from the loathsome sinks of European cities to war upon a people who had never in- jured them, but who, when gaunt famine clutched with his long fingers at the throats of their starving thousands, '* With ample gifts, from ample stores. Struck down the pestilence." And how did we avenge these wrongs ? When our vic- torious army of half-clothed and half-starved men swept from the Potomac through Maryland and Pennsylvania to Gettysburg, was its line of march a broad belt of desola- tion and misery like that of Sherman through Georgia, South and North Carolina? Was it preceded by thou- sands of affrighted and flying women and children ? Was it followed by clouds of smoke by day and pillars of fire by night ? Were your dwellings robbed and your women abused ? Did Eobert E. Lee order that the rich Yalley of the Cumberland should be so scathed and scorched by fire and sword that "a crow, in attempting to fly over it, should be under the necessity of carrying its haversack of rations?" No, no; he did what was in strict accord with his entire life. He ordered that the private property and the persons of non-combatants should be scrupulously re. spected, and all excesses punished, and it was done. He never put in the degrading plea that he could not control his men. Not a house was wantonly destroyed, not a citi- zen was abused, and the money was paid or tendered for whatever was taken, as a matter of necessity. Even the chagrin of failure could not make him mean ; he returned, as he had gone, with clean hands and a pure heart ! But when, long after, finding you had not, and would not appreciate such magnanimity, and driven to despera- 492 THE TWO SIDES OF THE PRISON QUESTION. tion, we burned one little town in retaliation for scores, if not hundreds, how did it affect j'our people? What be- came of Majors A. C. Bailey and Henry King Cochrane? It is said that, lingering behind their comrades, they were set upon and literally beaten to death by the infuriated citizens of Chambersburg ! At any rate, they have not been heard of from .that day to this, though their bereaved families have left no stone unturned ; and Northern papers stated at the time that such had been the fate of the two Confederate officers. JSTorthern papers teemed with de- nunciations of the diabolical ruffianism of McCauseland* The Governor of Pennsylvania offered a large reward for his apprehension, even after the surrender of our arD;iie8, and he is now an exile from his country. • He did only what Northern commanders had done scores of times, and yet no word of rebuke or condemnation was uttered against them by Northern Eadicals, nor one sentiment of sympathy and commiseration expressed for the wretched sufferers. Had we destroyed the last dollar's worth of property in the entire State of Pennsylvania, and driven the last inhabitant thereof, freezing and starving from its borders, while it would have been a terrible wrong in Itself, still, you would have had no right to complain, for we should not, even then, been anything like even with you ! But you say we are " rebels," and as such, have no rights. I deny it. As "rebels," we had rights; the rights of a common humanity! We were your brethren. Our blood had mingled on common battle-fields; we had contributed to your wealth, and ours had been a common glory. But you say we did wrong to rebel. Eussia said the same of the Poles, Austria of the Hungarians, Great Britain of the American Colonies. But grant that we did wrong, what man of you can say, " I never did wrong ! " Who, then, has a right to cast a stone ? Did we not believe we were right ? We point to our gallant dead, our maimed living, our widows and orphans, our desolated land, our ruined THE TWO SIDES OF THE PRISON QUESTION. 493 fortunes ! We risked all ; we sacrificed all ; we did it cheerfully ! Do meu thus act, unless they believe their cause a just one? Is not such sincerity worthy of some respect ? And if it was wrong in us to burn one little town in the North, was it not wrong in y^i to burn one hundred towns in the South ? And if the enlightened, re- fined and Christian people at the North became so exas- perated by the burning of one town, what might reason- ably have been expected, of course, of unenlightened, ud- christianized barbarians, such as you say we are, under the influence of scores of similar outrages? "Oh, the beauty of Christian charity — Christian charity under the sun ! " But my task is not a grateful one ; it is one of compul- sion. If we erred, most grievously have we answered for it. We are tired of wars and fighting ; tired of strife and bickering. We have suffered as people never suffered be- fore. Our land is a land of mournins; and desolation. We have been scathed and riven as it were by the light- nings and thunderbolts of God. We have confessed our inability longer to contend with the powers wielded against us. We have laid down our arms. We have re- turned to the ashes of our once happy homes. We ac- knowledge the supremacy of the government of the United States ; we are willing to yield obedience to its constitution and its laws. Let us alone, that we may re- cuperate our exhausted energies ! Let us alone,. that we may repair our ruined fortunes! Let us alone, that we may clear away the rubbish, and build again upon our old hearthstones ! Let us alone, that we may weep over the graves of our slaughtered kinsmen ! If the war was a crime, does not some of the guilt lie at your own doors ? Answer this as you must at last answer it at the bar of the Great Judge! Doubtless we did many wrong things ; are your hands clean ? Have 494 THE TWO SIDES OF THE PRISON QUESTION. you no sense of justice, no charity, no magnanimity? Is it generous ; is it manly, is it Christian to abuse a fallen brother ; to laugh at his calamity ; to exult over his mis- fortune ? We want ^ace — permanent, lasting peace. Do you? or are your professions false and deceitful ? If you do, then cease reviling us ! If you do, cease your jeers and tauntings ! If you do, accept the extended hand of your prostrate but still noble brother ! If you do, welcome him again to the old homestead and the old hearthstone ! If you do, cease to throw obstacles in the path that the President has marked out for reconstruction and recon- ciliation, and aid him in his patriotic effort ! If you do, catch at what you must know is the inclination of the President with regard to Jefferson Davis, that the doors of his prison may open, and the tottering, heart-broken man go home to his impoverished and weeping wife and children, and no longer celebrate the anniversaries of your victories and our final and irretrievable fall ; for they were victories over brethren ! If you do, erect no monuments on the fields of our disasters ! If you do, lay by your banners, weather-beaten, blood-stained and battle- torn. Place thera in a corner of some dark o-arret. lock the door and fling the key away! Finally, if you do, come now, help us to fling the dark pall of oblivion upon the sickening drama of the last five years, never to be re- moved ! Thus, may we have an enduring peace. A peace that will, with the lapse of time, efface all traces of the sorrows and sufferings of the present and the past. A peace that will cause our destroyed towns and cities to rise phoenix- like from their blackened and charred ruins and smolder- ing ashes. A peace that shall wave the ready harvest on fields that yesterday bristled with revengeful steel, and shook beneath the tread of embattled hosts. A peace under whose re-invigorating and re-vivifying influence, we may without presumption aspire to be COUSIN Maggie's posey. 495 "Amid the subject seas, That thunder round our rocky coast, set up At once the wonder, terror and delio-ht Of distant nations." ° But, if all your protestations of a desire for harmony and love for the Union be wicked lies; if you are not sufficiently glutted with blood and vengeance; if you would make those who were once our slaves our masters now; if you would treat us as subjects rather than equals- If you would sacrifice our little remaining property our wives and our children upon the accursed altar of avarice and ambition ; then there can be no real peace, no real Union. With you, then, O Eadicals of the North, rests the tremendous responsibility of our national future Not all the spells of magic lore. The wands of fay or elf. Could exercise one-half the power Of magic o'er myself, That lives within this posey sweet. Attached to Maggie's card, An offering of sympathy. Of friendship and regard. If pierced by sorrow's rankling dart, I e'er should falter — then This heart's-ease will revive ray heart And give it strength again. 496 THE TRIPLE-BARRED BANNER. For every festering wound of grief, A balm this flower will be ; My heart will find a sure relief In Maggie's sympathy. Though cold and drear the world may seem, Though clouded o'er it prove, This sweet geranium brings a gleam Of sun-shine from '• Pine Grove." And in that realm with day-dreams fraught, This pretty rose-bud opes What flights of bold, unspoken thought, AYhat. untold fears and hopes! This posey sweet will be a shield, A talismanic charm, In prison, march, or- battle-field, Averting ill or harm. To elevate, to cheer my heart, And all its sorrows lift. To glad my spirit is the part Of cousin Maggie's gift ! Cl^^ Criplc-lGiuTctr §amur. COL. W. S. HAWKINS. Oh, Triple-Barred Banner ! the badge of the free ! What coward would falter in duty to thee ! Oh, Southerners, onward, till freedom be won. And our eagle in pride greets the glance of the sun ! TO THE CONFEDERATE DEAD. 497 The daughters of South-land are kneeling in prayer, That thy folds ever triumph in battle's fierce glare; Then a welcome to sufferings, to prisons and scars, And Freedom's sweet smiles to the Stars and the Bars ! Oh, Triple-Barred Banner! the dread of the foe, When thou art advancing his might is laid low; No stripes now degrade thee, no symbol of shame ; All pure are thy lustres, all peerless thy fame; Nor weep not nor faint as the sad hours roll, They may shackle the body — they cannot the soul. Then welcome to troubles, to battles and scars. And Freedom's bright crown to the Stars and the Bars ! Oh, Triple-Barred Banner ! our joy and our pride ! Though scorned by invaders, by tyrants decried, Fling forth thy proud folds from mountain to sea. For the hearts of the South-land are beating for thee. And our brothers are arming with nerve and with will, To strike till the Northman is humbled and still. Then a welcome to woundings, to prisons and scars. And Freedom's sweet smile to the Stars and the Bars ! ^0 i])t Conftircrafc S^ah. COL. W. W. FONTAINE. Comrades, sleep your sleep of glory, In your narrow soldier graves. Though the flag you gave to story On the breeze no longer waves. 498 TO THE CONFEDERATE DEAD. G-ently sleep, though hopes most cherished Yanished when you nobly died ; Though your country's cause has perished, You for her the world defied. With our trusted falchion broken,. Naught to ward a hostile blow, Festering sink the insults spoken. Insults to a fallen foe ! Dastard insults ! Aye, we feel them ! Tingling veins and faces burn, And the anguished tear conies bursting, That no blow we may return : That the gallant crimson banner Now is trailing on the ground ; That its thousand true-heart followers Lie beneath the grassy mound ; That our pure and patriot chieftain In a fortress prison pines ; While in every town and hamlet Steel of hated foeman shines ! Yictors of a hundred battles, With the death-wound in the breast, By the infant, ere it prattles, Shall your honored graves be drest! Children's children shall adore you ; Yet your sunny South be free, And the germ your blood has watered, Shall become a glorious tree. Yes, with tramp of martial legions Shall our hills and plains resound ; Lees and Jacksons, be their leaders, Stuarts, Ashbys, there be found ; And the blood-red banner blazing With the starry Southern cross. THE LOVED AND LOST. 499 O'er the hero sons of herpes, Shall again in victory toss. Comrades, sleep your sleep of glory ! Though the flag you gave to war Now is trailing, soiled and gory, Chained beneath the victor's car. Yet your sons that chain will sever, Yet that flag uplift with prayer, "Where its stars shall gleam forever, Grandly through the Southern air I Johnson's Island^ June^ 1865. %\t f otob anb f ost- BY COL. B. H. JONES. " I HAVE a rose — a faded rose, Sweeter than many a fairer flower ; It will not bud where zeyhyr blows, It will not freshen in the shower ; Where is the giver ? Oh, where ? " I have a sunny tress of hair. Fair was the brow o'er which it waved, Undimmed by time, unchanged by care, A thing that love for mem'ry saved Where is the wearer ? Oh, where ? 500 THE LOVED AND LOST. "I have a heart — a lonely heart, O'er which at evening, stealing, comes A voice that makes the teiar-drop start, As through the past fond mem'ry roams ; "Where is the speaker ? Oh, where?" Hethinks that breathings low and soft, As winds of Spring o'er banks of bloom, Through all my pensive being waft. And whisper of a cloudless home. Where is the whisp'rer ? Oh, where ? The hand that gave that faded rose, The brow where waved that sunny hair, The voice that well my spirit knows. And whisperer safe in Heaven are ; There is the loved one ! Oh, there ! I soon shall clasp that friendly hand, I soon shall kiss that angel brow ; Shall answer in that sunny land. Voices that have no answer now. There shall I greet thee ! Oh, there ! We'll range the fields of azure blue ; We'll know no parting, grief, nor pain j We'll sip of love's immortal dew. That sparkles all that verdured plain ; No more sadness ever there I Then welcome. Death, thy friendly dart ! Welcome the winding-sheet and clod ! Uniting heart to faithful heart, To be forever more with God. And live and reign forever there. MY FIRST NINETY DAYS, 501 ;g Jfirst Uimtn gims; OR, THE BLUNDERS OF A CONFEDERATE CAPTAIN. BY COL. B. H. JONES. About the middle of June, 1861, I raised a company of infantry in Fayette county, Virginia, and was elected cap- tain, but certainly not on account of my familiarity with the pages of Scott, Gilham, or Hardee, as the sequel dem- onstrated, for I " had never set a squadron in the field, Nor the division of a battle knew More than a spinster." In the latter part of the same month, the company glo- rying in the euphoneous and significant appellation of the " Dixie Rifles^'" was regularly mustered into the service of the Confederate States at the great Falls of the Kanawha, by Brig. Gen. Henry A. Wise, to whose " Legion " it was attached. I had just returned from Lewisburg, and sported a gray jacket, gotten up by a tailor of that place, who, by Way of securing the job, had assured me that he was perfectly au fait in all the minutice pertaining to the decoration of military rank. I was quite proud of my up-buttoned, close-fitting "jacket of gray," and felt all the importance of the com- mander, until I was startled from my dream of consequen- tiality by being addressed by an old soldier as " corporal Jones ! " My Knight of the Shears, equally ignorant with myself, had braided me a corporal ! My mortification was excessive, nor did I recover my usual composure until I spasmodically tore off the libellous braid, and cast it dis- dainfully upon the ground. 502 MY FIRST NINETY DAYS. In the afternoon of that day it became necessary to draw rations, and as our supplies were at Gauley Bridge, two miles above our encampment, and no transportation at hand, I was under the necessity of marching the men up, so they might carry down their " hard tack and bacon.'* Ignorant of the command necessary to form two ranks, or even to f^ce them in the direction I wished to move, I took my orderly sergeant aside, communicated my inten- tion to move at once upon the supply depot, and directed him to form the company in single line, with the men fac- ing toward the Bridge. He thought the suggestion a happy one, and proceeded to execute the order, by taking each man by the jacket collar and forcibly establishing him in the proper position, always accompanied with the important injunction to " stand right therey At the command, "/ori^arrf — march!" given with all the energy I could summon to the aid of a strong pair of lungs, the " Dixie Eifles " moved oif in the most approved style. The interminable line winding with the frequent curves and angles of the road, which, coupled with the irregular and unrestrained swinging to and fro, from right to left, and from left to right, of one hundred and eighty awkward arms, brought forcibly to mind the spiral and confused locomotion of a mighty centipede ! Ever and anon reaching a commanding point, I would cast backward a glance of pride and satisfaction ^t the vast proportions of my command. CaBsar, Alexander, and Napoleon, at some period in their eventful lives, possibly, felt as well as I did then, but I will never concede that either of them ever felt any better. There was but one unpleasant drop in the cup of my happiness. I knew that the company ought to march in tioo ranks, but how to get it in that shape was the rub ! I had Warned the company on taking up the line of march, that " talkin' in ranks" would not only be- highly unmilitar}', but could not be tolerated at all ; so that not MY FIRST NINETY DAYS. 503 a sound broke the funeral silence of that two miles march, save once, when an old soldier, who had seen service in Mexico, ventured to speak in a subdued tone to the man immediately in his front. I detected this, and jealous of my authority, as well as indignant at so wanton a breach of military propriety, and stung by what I suspected was a merited criticism upon^the Indian file movement, and consequently a reflection upon ray military accomplish- ments, I sternly ordered him to be silent, reminding him that I was Captain, and as such, not to be trifled with, and that, as an old soldier, he should know better! At length we arrived at the Bridge ; the rations were issued, and the order, *' shoulder bacon and hard tack," was about to be given, when, as luck would have it, up comes a four horse wagon, driven by a Nicholas county farmer. Fancying myself, by virtue of my Captaincy, vested with extraordinary j^ower — in other word!!^ a gentleman of "high claims and terrifying exactions," — I proceeded, at once, to press wagon, team, and teamster. The farmer protested, alleging that he had been long from home, and could not reach there until late at night ; but all this was unavailing. He had encountered what was afterwards known as a " military necessity," and, as a matter of course, had to succumb. Now, another difficulty stared me in the face. My men had fallen in, facing Gauley Bridge ; I wished to move them in the opposite direction, I did not know the command for a countermarch. " File right^^^ and " File left^^ were terms unknown to me, or if known, utterly meaningless. I re- flected a moment, nervously twirling my cane, (sword, I had not,) my face burning, my heart beating audibly, the men silent and expectant, until finally growing desperate, I cried out in the extremity of my agony, " Men^ turn your faces the other loay !" Some turned to the right, some to the left, some made the entire circle and stood as at first, while others, with countenances as blank as lamp-posts. 504 MY FIRST NINETY DAYS. made no effort whatever to obey the order, while my sharpened hearing caught a half-suppressed sound of ma- licious laughter in the direction of the "old soldier! " Fi- nally, with the aid of ray "orderly," I got them all right, and the interminable line that "Like a wounded snake, dragged its slow length along," returned to camp. Here the wagon of the Nicholas county farmer speedily unladened. He then approached me in the most deferential, not to say awe-struck manner, and stammered something about "pay ! " I was astounded at his ignorance of the license of military authority, and, indignant at his want of patriotism, replied with much spirit, "pay, sir! Pay, indeed! No pay at all, sir. A mere gratuity that you, as a loyal and patriotic citizen, should esteem a privilege to render your country, sir ; the Southern Confedeftcy, sir! " With alarm, wonder, morti- fication, and disappointment, all depicted in his counten- ance, he shrank back, mounted his horse, cracked his whip, and was soon out of sight. He should have threshed me soundly on the spot, although, at the time, I honestly be- lieved I was merely exercising an official prerogative for the benefit of my country. A happy idea now suggested itself. I would solve the vexed problem of forming in two ranks, by being present when Capt. -Riggs' company was on parade. His men were formed in line, facing by the left flank. " In two ranks form company ! Company, right face — march ! " said Capt. Riggs. " Eureka! " I almost audibly ejaculated ; then hur- riedly dodging around the corner of an old house standing close by, I hastily took my memorandum book from a side pocket, and eagerly recorded, in pencil, the talismanic words. By roll-call the next morning I had memorized them, and was enabled to accomplish the wonderful evolu- tion of forming a company in two ranks to my own entire satisfaction. As to "four ranks," I had never heard of MY FIRST NINETY DAYS. 505 such a thing, and should have been strongly inclined to question the sanity of the man who would have hinted the possibility of such a formation. Bear in mind, I had never mustered with the "melis/i," nor seen the inside of any work on military tactics. Mine was not an isolated case ; it was the experience of nine-tenths of the Confederate officers. We were "green," all of us; yes, succulently green. The enlisted men drew rations, regularly ; but when I applied for mine, I was politely informed, much to my mor- tification, that "rations" were not issued to commissioned officers. " How am I to live, sir ? " I anxiously enquired. "Indeed, captain, I am not able to answer your question though I should' be most happy to do so ; for it is one in which you are certainly much interested," replied the commissary, who was as ignorant of his duties as I was of mine, though not in half so much danger of starvation I had not been long at Gauley Bridge before it came my turn to act as " officer of the day." I felt both compli- mented and alarmed. I was wholly ignorant of the duties of my position. Maj. Bradfute Warwick, who subsequently, as a Colonel, fell covered with glory at Cold Harbor, was commandant of the post. He was an eastern man, and— unacquainted with the geography of that part of Virginia, and the dispo- sition of the inhabitants— fancied we were in constant dan- ger of a surprise. In this he was most energetically second- ed and sustained by Capt. Buckholtz, an officer of much gallantry, in command of the artillery, who instructed me to visit the pickets twice during the day and three times at night. And the distance to be traveled in making our round was about six miles. The roughness of the route, and the labor and peril to be encountered, cannot be con- ceived by any one who has not experienced them. In ad- dition to the regular pickets, men were stationed about seventy yards apart, connecting each post with the main 22 506 MY FIRST NINETY DAYS. camps. These sentinels being perfectly " green," fancied a live Yankee under every bush, and were ready to fire at the least noise. I was to start on my first round at precisely nine o'clock. I gathered my blanket and repaired to the guard-house. It had rained almost incessantly for "forty days and nights," consequently the rude floor of the guard-house bore a strong resemblance to that of a pig-stye. I scraped away the looser particles of mud, however, and spreading ray blanket, lay down among guards. Union prisoners, &c., but I consoled myself, however, in my novel and uncomfortable position by the reflection that I was " serving my coun- try," and that our forefathers had trod the same rugged pathway to glory and independence. Indeed, my patriot- ism so far triumphed over my discomforts as to enable me to discover new beauties in the sentiment, " Dulce et de- corum est pro patria mori ! " At the designated hour I was aroused by the officer of the guard, and began the toil of the night. Taried and startling were the receptions and experiences of my dreary round. Sometimes it was a sharp ^^ Halt — who comes there ? " Again, it was a hesitating and nervous " who's that ? " and not unfrequently it was the startling " click " of a lock, that made " each particular hair stand on end," as the aroused sentinel made ready to fire ! I was under the necessity of specially instructing each sentry. When I got back to the guard-house, I found it was just midnight, the hour for " Grand Bounds ; " so, accompanied by a ser- geant and three privates, I started again. My experience was about the same as on the preceding round, with one or two ludicrous variations. " Who comes there ? " " Grand Rounds ! " was the reply. " Come on, Grand Rounds ! " Another, " Who are you ? " " Grand Rounds ! " " Oh, pshaw ! I thought it was them fellers comin' to re- lieve me ! " Grand Rounds completed, I found myself at the starting MY FIRST NINETY DAYS, 507 point at 3 A. M., wet, muddy, and fatigued. 1 had only made two rounds. My instructions were to make three, and to fail was, in my opinion, death, — ignominious death ! I thought of my family, left in such unsettled and trou- blous times without a provider or protector, and remem- bering, also, how illy fitted I was for death, I nerved my- self for the third and last round. Away I trudged, all alone, and finished the third round about sunrise ; the third round finished me about the same hour. I had travelled eighteen miles, stubbing my feet against stones, falling over logs, jamming against stumps, plashing into mud holes, and wading a sluice of water no less than three times, thirty yards wide and three feet deep ! As there were but three captains at the post, this task devolved on me every third day. No wonder, then, that my countenance grew haggard and wan, and my body weak and trembly, so that my own wife recognized me with difficulty. An iron man could not have endured such hardships unafi'ected. Yet I bore all cheerfully, and with martyr-like resignation, from a sense of duty, and because I thought, at the time, the authority of a commanding of- ficer was unrestricted, and that, as a subordinate, I was bound to obey all orders, whether reasonable or unreason- able. When commissioned officers were so verdant, what could have been expectedof the private soldier ? Passing from my quarters to the creek, one morning after sunrise, to in- dulge in my usual ablution, I was suddenly halted by a sen- tinel, some fifty yards to my right : " Who comes there ? " he fiercely demanded. " Captain Jones." "Grive the countersign. Captain Jones." " The countersign is not required at this hour." "Yes, it is. Give me the countersign," he screamed, cocking his long mountain rifle, and bringing her to bear directly between ray eyes, so that I fancied I could almost 508 MY FIRST NINETY DAYS. see the bullet that was to finish my mortal career ! It would have been imprudent to have shouted the countersign, sur- rounded, as I was, by laurel, where an enemy might have been concealed, so I essayed to draw a little closer. "Halt! Give the countersign, I tell you, or I'll fire." " I must get closer. I might be overheard." "Don't care a darn ! That's what that fellow said, that comed around last night, and I ain't a gwine to fool with you much longer, neither, Captain. So jes sing her out." Seeing that further parley or expostulation was not only useless, but positively perilous, I bawled out, " Jeff Davis.'* " That's the truck, Cap'n. Hurrah for Jeff Davis. You can go now; " and he resumed his beat. So apprehensive of a surprise were the superior officers, (all eastern men,) that finally I got badly scared myself. I was called up one night, by Sergeant Major Pierce, and informed that the enemy was actually crossing New river, just above the mouth of Gauleyj in great force — using three flat-boats for that purpose. I was ordered to awaken my men, and get them under arms. The "boys " sprang eagerly to their guns, all but one ]50or fellow, who was, unfortunately, at that very moment, attacked with violent pains in the region of the stomach. I was assigned a position in an oat field. Captain Buckholtz labored with great energy to get his artillery in position ; wheels creaking, whips cracking, drivers swearing. There we stood in the field, shivering in the dark morning fog with guns cocked, heads inclined eagerly forward, and eyes strained, vainly endeavoring to peer into the surrounding darkness ; but no enemy came. In the latter part of July we began the famous retreat — or, as Gen. Wise persisted in calling it, the " retrogade " movement — from the Kanawha Yalley. Cox had been whipped at " Scary ; " but another army, acting in concert with his movement, was seeking, by way of Sutton, Sum- mersville, and the Wilderness road, to gain our rear, and MY FIRST NINETY DAYS. 509 thus, not only cut us off from our base, but capture our whole force. Such confusion and demoralization as then ensued, have been seldom witnessed. One entire company, perhaps two, deliberately filed off and went home. Another scat- tered like frightened sheep ; but the captain marched boldly on alone, until becoming thoroughly disgusted, he broke his sword, and wore the bars no more ! Huge sides of bacon were pitched into the mud and trampled under foot. The heads of whiskey and molasses barrels were knocked in, and every man helped himself. Gauley bridge, that had cost $30,000, was burned, although the river was fordable for infantry and cavalry one hundred yards above. It was said, though I never credited the report, that the famous " Hawk's Nest " was examined with an eye to its destruction, but was declared non-com- bustible, and thus saved for the admiration of future tour- ists. Every one went it on his " own hook." For the first twelve hours, despite the efforts of the General, order and system were lost. Quartermasters were oblivious to their obligations to furnish transportation. My company baggage had been carried across the ill- fated bridge by the men. I awaited transportation until near night-fall, and the bridge was already in flames, lighting the heavens from horizon to zenith with their lurid glare. The army had gone, its retreating footsteps echoing amid the gorges of Gauley mountain, still no transporta- tion, nor would the last lingering Quartermaster answer satisfactorily my inquiries. So I moved off, leaving all behind. Dark soon came on, and the rain descended only as it did rain in the summer and autumn of 1861, in the moun- tains of West Virginia. We had gone a mile when we met a wagon with a four mule team and a negro driver. I pressed wagon, mules and driver, sent them back and got my baggage. It was 510 MY FIRST NINETY DAYS. now so dark we could with diflSculty keep the road. I halted the company, told the boys to take care of them- selves, and they scattered in every direction, seeking shel- ter under rocks and trees from the pitiless storm. I crept down the hill side, carefully feeling my way, and found a dry spot under a huge rock. I called to one of my lieu- tenants, who soon joined me, and I told him to go in first ; he did so, and so completely occupied the whole space that I was compelled to lie all night in the rain. While sleep to me was impossible, I could hear the lieutenant snoring boisterously all the while. I had never before regretted having been generous ; I did that night, and I think you will concede I had reason. When morning came, I was wet to the bone, and chilled to the marrow. We started again at daylight. Gen. Wise was standing at the top of Gauley mountain. When we came up, he told me to halt my company. I did so, and he furloughed every man who wished to go by his home. The result was, I entered Lewisburg with ten men out of ninety. I was so emaciated and care-worn that my most intimate friends recognized me with difficulty. Having recruited and reorganized his command, Gen. Wise again advanced toward Gauley, while Gen, Floyd, taking the Sunday road, moved toward Summersville. Wise encountered Cox at Big Creek, a few miles beyond the Hawk's Nest, and, after a brisk skirmish, kept up un- til evening, owing to the failure of a part of his pro- gramme, fell back four miles to Woodville, and went into camp. Floyd, having crossed Gauley at Carnifix's Ferry, and entrenched himself on the cliffs, awaited Eosecranz, who, advancing from Cheat Mountain, attacked hira with great impetuosity. The Confederates, though outnumber- ed at least six to one, resisted successfully every attempt to carry their position, until night-fall, when they with- drew with so much secrecy, that the Federal Commander received the information of their retreat about sunrise the MY FIRST NINETY DAYS. 511 next morning, when his troops stormed and carried the undefended entrenchments, Floyd did not lose a single man in this battle — two were slightly wounded, one of them the General himself. Eosecranz must have suflPered severely, as his men repeatedly assailed the works with great and persevering gallantry. Having recrossed Gauley, Floyd fell back to Dogwood Gap, at the junction of the Sunday road with the James Eiver and Kanawha turnpike. Here he was rejoined by Wise ; and Cox and Eosecranz, continuing to advance with a force of at least 15,000 men, while that of the Confederates did not exceed 3,500, the latter fell back slowly to the top of Big Sewell Mountain. Halting here a day or so, Floyd began to fortify, but suddenly changing his mind, he retired toward Meadow Eiver, in Greenbrier county, and ordered AYise to follow, which he positively and indignantly refused to do, avowing his determination to oppose his 1,500 men against Eosecranz's 15,000, and thus make a Thermopylae of Sewell Mountain. He ac- cordingly named his position " Camp Defiance," and coolly awaited the advance of the enemy. It is not necessary to recount how, in a few days, Eose- cranz came up and went into camp in an equally favorable position about a mile west of " Camp Defiance ; " how Gen. Lee came down from the Cheat Mountain region bringing reinforcements ; how he examined Wise's posi- tion, approved his course, and ordered Floyd to return ; how for three or four weeks the rival host surveyed each other from their respective mountain strongholds without coming to an engagement ; how, confident of the issue, we, from day to day, prayed for the advance of the Fed- erals ; and how, finally, one bright Sunday morning, when Gen. Jjee, as we were assured, had made up his mind to execute on the following Tuesday a grand strategic move- ment that promised to result in the complete discomfiture of the foe, we got up and found he had struck his tents 512 MY FIRST NINETY DAYS. and precij^itately retreated. I merely wish, in this con- nection, to relate one other of my adventures as a Confed- erate Captain. I was officer of the day. We were expecting Eosecranz to attack us. I wished to see the old officer of the guard. I did not know who had acted in that capacity the day before, and had not been enabled to find out by enquiry. I went to the guard tent and mentioned that I wished to see the old officer of the guard. A drummer suggested that if he were to sound his drum, perhaps the individual wanted would come to the guard tent. I cannot under- stand why I thought the beating of the drum would pro- duce such a result, or why the drummer thought so. I know, however, 1 caught at the suggestion, and when the drummer asked me if he should sound the long roll, I an- swered affirmatively, adding that I supposed that would do as well as anything else. The fact was I had not heard of the long roll before, and did not know that special sig- nificance attached to it. He commenced beating the long roll. There happened to be one or two officers in camp who knew that the long roll was a call to arms to repel an attack, or something of that nature. In other words, it was an alarm. They seized their swords, sprang out and called on their men to fall in, instantly; other officers caught the infection and followed the example. In a moment the entire camp was in an uproar, rivalling that of Babel itself. From every tent officers buckling on their swords, and privates with cartridge box in one hand and musket in the other, streamed forth like angry bees from so many hives, while above all other sounds, were heard the excited commands of officers, " fall in, men — fall in ! " " Back on the left ! " "Out a little in the center." "There, steady, front ! " " Eight dress ! " &c., &c. Had I been capable, at that moment, of remembering anything at all that I had ever read, it would certainly have been Byron's Waterloo : MY riRST NINETY DAYS. 513 "Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And there was mounting in hot haste ; the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar ; And near the beat of the alarming drum, Roused up the soldier e'er the morning star; While thronged the citizens, with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips : ' The foe ! they come, they come I ' " But cries of " the long roll ! " " the long roll ! " arising on all sides, assured me that I was the author of the mis- chief, and in the extremity of ray mortification, I was senseless and dumb ; and then Col. Spaulding came rush- ing from his quarters, calling for his horse, and demanding, in an excited manner, ''what all that meant?" If ever man desired *' A lodge in some vast wilderness — Some boundless contiguity of shade," deep, dark, impenetrable shade, at that — one of the Ben- gal jungle variety — I was certainly that man. In reply to his question, I succeeded, by a desperate effort, in stammering out that there was nothing serious the mat- ter ; that I had told the drummer to beat for the old ofiicer of the guard, and he had, with my sanction, beat the " long roll" — I being ignorant of the peculiar import and proba- ble effect thereof. For a moment, anger and a keen sense of the ridiculous appeared to struggle for the mastery ; but the latter tri- umphed, and, directing his orderly to tell the captains to dismiss their men, with an emphatic smile on his counten- ance, he invited me to his tent, and there good-humoredly explained to me the mysteries of the " long roll ! " Brave, accomplished, generous Spaulding! Two weeks later his body, a bloody corpse, was borne in a blanket to camp, by four of his men. He had approached too close to the pickets of the enemy, and received two balls through his breast. A few days after the retreat of the Federals from Sew- 22* 514 MY FIRST NINETY DAYS. ell, General Lee sent out two famous scouts — one of them afterwards Capt. William Heffaer, who was killed at the battle of Lewisburg, in May, 1862. They were ordered to leave their guns in camp, as the object was information as to the location of the enemy. They found the enemy encamped in a field belonging to Colonel George Alderson. Under cover of the brush, the scouts crept up to the fence enclosing the field, and while lying there, Generals Eose- cranz and Cox rode up within thirty yards, halted, and sat on their horses engaged in conversation for some time. Capt. Heffaer told me he could have counted the buttons on their coats. Had the scouts carried their guns, the career of the two Federal commanders would have ended that bright October morning — Wm. Heffner and comrade were dead shots, with their long mountain rifles, at two hundred paces. Suffice it to say, that I afterwards saw much service, and endured much suffering, for I was in the field from the be- ginning to the close of the war, excepting from the 5th of June, 1864, to 19th June, 1865, during which time I was a prisoner of war at Johnson's Island. I was with Lee, in the swamps of South Carolina : on the sand hills of Wilmington ; in front of McDowell, at Fredericksburg ; in the " Seven Days' Battles," on the Chickahominy. With Jackson, at Cedar Mountain ; with Loring, in the Kanawha Yalley ; with Ransom, in the Southwest; with ^'- Tiger John " McCausland, at Piney, Princeton, and the Xarrows ; with Jenkins, at Cloyd's Farm, and William E. Jones, at fatal Piedmont ; but during those first " Ninety Days " with Wise, in the Kanawha Valley and on Sewell Moun- tain, I underwent more real suffering and hardship, than in all my after military life. And the " Dixie Rifles! " where are they now? Alas! some are sleeping beneath the Magnolias of the South ; some on the hills of Fredericksburg; some at Mechanics- ville, Cold Harbor, and Frazier's Farm; some at Piney, MY FIRST NINETY DAYS. 515 Princeton and the Narrows ; some at Cloyd's Farm ; some at Piedmont, Winchester, Kernstown, Cedar Creek, Fisher's Hill, and on the banks of the Opeqiion ; some at the White Sulphur, Eichmond, and Lynchburg; some at Camps Morton and Chase ; some at Point Lookout and Elmira; some have gone home with broken constitutions; some maimed and almost helpless for life. With their gallant comrades of the glorious "old 60th," they every- where bore their full share of suffering, and danger, and death; and when, at the close of the war, they, with streaming eyes and aching hearts, turned away from the " Conquered Banner," which, " though gory, Yet is wreathed around with glory, And will live in song and story, Though its folds are in the dust ; For its fame on brightest pages, Penned by poets and by sages, Shall ^0 sounding down through ages, Furl its fold though now we must." In that sad hour, not more than a dozen of the original Dixie Eifles answered at roll-call. '« On Fame's eternal camping ground, Their silent tents are spread : While Glory guards with solemn round The bivouac of the dead 1 " 516 TO EXCHANGE COMMISSIONER OULD. ^0 (^ul^mx^t Cnmmtssioiur 6ultr» MAJ. GEO. MCKNIGHT. Dear Uncle Boh : I fear your head Has gone a thinking I am dead ; That ice and snow, and doctor's arts, Had stopped the breath of " Asa Hartz." I write this in poetic " lingo," To tell you I'm alive, by jingo ! And ask if you can bring about Some certain means to get me out ? Haven't you got some Yankee *' mage," !Now resting in a Southern cage, Who longs to see his much loved "^arm" ; Or visit once again his farm; Or gaze upon his garden "5«ss," Or see, once more, his youthful lass ? Haven't you one of these, I say. Whom you would like to swap away For me, a man of vim — of parts, Swap him in short for " Asa Hartz" ? I've been here now almost a year, And feel that freedom would be dear. I've tried by every means I knew, To bid this Isle a fond adieu ; — Dug holes, scaled walls, passed thro' the gate, With Yankee cap upon my pate ; And when I went out on the ice. And thought I'd got away so nice, I found a " blue coat ■' in my route, TO EXCHANGE COMMISSIONER OULD. 517 Who quickly made me face about, Marched me, with diabolic grin, Back to the gate and turned me in ! I've swallowed every rumor strange, That had a word about " exchange " ; Grew fat with joy, grew lean with sorrow. Was up to-day, and down to-morrow j Implored, with earnestness of soul, To be released upon " parole " ; Wrote Ben F. B. a spicy letter. And told him he could not do better Than let me out for " Thirty Days " ; I read his answer in amaze! He said that things were mixed up now In such a way, he knew not how The favor that I talked about Could well be granted ; had no doubt That things would soon be all arranged, By which we all Avould be exchanged ! That ended it. I wrote to Prentice, Who, several times, had kindly lent his Purse and name to those whom chance. And " pomp and glorious circumstance," Had sent to rusticate awhile Within the pen, on Johnson's Isle. Well, " George D." wrote to Gen. Terry, Commandant here — a good man, very. And told him, if he'd let me out. For thirty days, or thereabout. He'd take me down into Kentucky, See that I didn't " cut my lucky " ; Would go my bail in any sum. That when B. called me, I should come I 518 TO EXCHANGE COMMISSIONER OULD. Gen. Terry wrote him back, That he must take the "beaten track"! "I really thought," he said, "you knew it. That Stanton — and he alone — could do it! " Thus ended that plan. I've no doubt That I've almost "gone up the spout"! Unless you can devise the means, To give me change of air and scenes, By special swap ! ^ow, Uncle Bob: Be patient with me! Do not rob Me of the hope I fondly cherish ! Do not leave me here to perish! I've ''shuffled;' ''cut the cards;' and "dealt;" I've lost my "bower " — the loss is felt Far more than loss of "filthy lucre." l^ow "play my hand" — save me the "euchre." And when your latest breath departs, You'll go bewailed by " Asa Hartz." P. S. When you, in answering this, shall write, Address me — " Maj. George McKnight, Prisoner of War." Be cautious — very, And add on — " Care of General Terry. " A LOVE LETTER. 519 % f ofjc f eittr. BY MAJ. S. y. LEVY. I PROMISED once to write thee, and I write : What can I tell thee, clear, thou dost not know? O'er the pale camp is brooding tearful Night, Save where the silv'ry moonlight's placid glow Strikes through the solemn arches of the trees ; And ev'rj voice in Nature hush'd and dead. Save the light murmurs of the whisp'ring breeze And the lone sentry's nev^er ceasing tread. But in my heart there flutters a soft voice, Responsive to some Seraph's harp above, Bidding my restless spirit " O, rejoice ! Rejoice, O soul, be glad in thy great love." Be glad that thou hast clasp'd her yielding form ; Be glad that thou hast heard her quiv'ring sighs : Hast trembled in the whirl of passion's storm, And fainted in the languor of her eyes. I know that thou canst never be mine own. And that the future's but one dreary strife ; For who can conquer, fighting all alone. The cold conventionalities of life ? Yet still I love thee: love thee, while I know I press a blissful torment to my heart : Unheeding my sad s^^irit's warning low, " Desist, fond fool, and know that you must part." Ah me, that it should ever come to this ; That e'er my soul should droop 'neath this eclipse. 520 A LOVE LETTER. E'en while I feel thy last long, lingering kiss, Dwelling in perfume on my raptured lips, The terror of what must be, strikes its dart Deep in my joy, and shadows forth my doom ; Instils its poison thro' my shudd'ring heart. And shrouds the temple of my soul in gloom. I would I ne'er had met thee ; better, dear. Have worshipped the ideal of my mind, — A fairy vision — than have seen, appear. Thy lovely presence, and in it to find All that my fancy long ago had loved, All that my spirit ever pined to see, All that my wayward pulses e'er had moved. Incarnate and refined, sweet love in thee*; Yet know, for me beams not that radiant face, — That all my future's but a bitter strife. And weary solitude usurps the place Of thee, my better, nobler part of life. Ah, if I could but make thy fate mine own ; Could always see the changes of thine eye j Share joy for joy, and echo moan for moan ; Grive smile for smile, and murmur sigh for sigh ; The golden circlet of my life would move, Hushed with a rapture deeper than the sea ; My soul would soar immortal with its love. And find its future Heaven alone with thee. Yet, still, a voice of hope sings from on high In murm'ring accents, low and strangely sweet "Be comforted, sad soul, ye too shall die. And seek eternal union at God's feet. "Wherefore, be not cast down, but live to shield A LOVE LETTER. 521 The idol of thy soul from every care ; To wage life's fight in her behalf, and yield, For her dear sake, thy stubborn heart in prayer. "And as the waters rent the sullen rock. Struck by the holy Prophet's mighty rod, So let this hope thy sad despair unlock, And still love on, and leave the end to God." But I write mournfully, and thou wilt see No music in this plaintive wail of mine ; Then, dear, who art a spirit born of glee. And joying in an atmosphere divine, What can I write thee of? The morn shines iDright, The whip-poor-will doth her sad song repeat; Perfumes are glowing on the heath of night, And the lone sentry walks his weary beat. Kow o'er the quiet camp doth slumber reign. And sorrow on sleep's bosom calms her sighs ; I seek a pillow there, alas, in vain ! The gentle goddess scorns my watchful eyes. For thoughts of thee still flutter o'er my mind. And Mem'ry sparkles with thy winning grace-; I hear thy whisper on the murm'ring wind, And in all heav'n I see thy laughing face. Bow down ! bow down, my soul, before thy queen ! Sing forth her glories to the wond'ring Night ! To the gay fairies dancing o'er the green, And weaving love spells from the cold moon's light. Ah, dearest, how I love thee ! Not the love That roseate dawned when Eros took his birth, But as the white-winged seraphs glowed above, Wooing the daughters of the youthful Earth. 522 A LOVE LETTER. I would that you and I, far, far away, Loitered, all heedless, by some murm'ring shore, Where all my love might open to the day, And I should know thoud'st never leave me more. How I would cherish thee ! Ah ! hurt me, sweet, No fairy pillowed on a lily's breast Could e'er lie softer in her fair retreat, Than thou would'st in these arms — thy surest nest. I'd dwell in rapture on thy lightest word, And revel in the perfume of thy sighs ; Own every wish of thine, my heart's sole lord, And read Love's triumph in thine orbid eyes. And when the rosy-tinted Moon alights, And when the Sun casts down his golden hair, E'en till he sinks behind the western heights, I'd see Love shrined in Nature everywhere. 'Love, sighing in the murmur of the seas — Love, sleeping in the shady mountain nooks — Love, dancing to the music of the trees, And laughing in the ripple of the brooks. Love, in the fragrance of each flow' ret fair — Love, in the azure of the smiling skies — Love in the mazes of my lady's hair, And in the splendor of my darling's eyes. O, Love, Love, Love ! O, all pervading Love ; Love, ruling everywhere without control; Love upon earth, and Love in Heaven above, And Love, entranced, cradled in my soul. Ah, vain the thought ! hear the stern fate — we part : It sets its awful seal upon my fears ; Glides, icy cold, athwart my shuddering heart, And shrouds my spirit in a veil of tears. THE COUNTERSIGN. 523 Hark ! from the silence the shrill Eeveillee, Above the startled camp peals out its swell, And welcomes to the earth the new-born day. My soul's best joy and light, farewell, farewell 1 t €annhxBXQn. BY COL. W. W. FONTAINE. Alas! the weary hours pass slow, The night is very dark and still, And in the marshes far below I hear the bearded whip-poor-will. I scarce can see a yard ahead, My ears are strained to catch each sound ; I hear the leaves about me shed, And the springs bubbling through the ground. Along the beaten path I pace. Where white rags mark my sentry's track ; In formless shrubs I seem to trace The foeman's form with bending back. I think I see him crouching low; I stop and list — I stoop and peer — Until the neighboring hillocks grow To groups of soldiers far and near. With ready piece I wait and watch, Until mine eyes, familiar grown, Detect each harmless earthen notch, 524 THE COUNTERSIGN. And turn guerrillas into stone. And then amid the lonely gloom, Beneath the weird old tulip trees, My silent marches I resume, And think on other times than these. Sweet visions through the silent night! The deep bay windows fringed with vine ; The room within, in softened light. The tender, milk-white hand in mine. The timid pressure, and the pause That ofttimes overcame our speech — That time when by mysterious laws, We each felt all in all to each. And then, that bitter, bitter day, When came the final hour to part, When clad in soldier's honest gray, I pressed her weeping to my heart. Too proud of me to bid me stay, Too fond of me to let me go, I had to tear myself away. And left her stolid in her woe. So rose the dream — so passed the night — When distant in the darksome glen^ Approaching up the sombre height, I hear the solid march of men ; Till over stubble, over sward, And fields where lay the golden sheaf, I saw the lantern of the guard Advancing with the night relief. *' Halt ! who goes there ? " my challenge cry, It rings along the watchful line. "Belief! " I hear a voice reply. " Advance, and give the countersign I " TO THE LADIES OF VIRGINIA. 525 With bayonet at the charije, I wait, The corporal gives the mystic spell ; With arms at port I charge my mate, And onward pass, and all is well. But in the tent that night awake, I think, if in the fray I fall, Can I the mystic answer make Whene'er the angelic sentries call ? And pray that heaven may so ordain, That when I near the camp divine, Whether in travail or in pain, I too may have the countersign. C0 tlj^ Ifairtcs 0f ©irgmm. BY COL. W. W. FONTAINE. Mothers, wives, and maidens fair I Mournful, with disheveled hair, You have come this day to share In an act of glory ; Sprinkling flowers on the grave, Of each patriot soldier brave. Who, his mother State to save, Made an oifering gory. Tho' the offering was in vain. On their shield there is no stain. On their arm there is no chain ; 526 TO THE LADIES OF VIRGINIA. Deck their graves with flowers. And whenever maiden May Shall their native South array, Ever this appointed day, Bring your floral showers. Yes, altho' their cause is dead, Tho' our mother bows her head 'Neath the foeman's haughty tread, Pressing now upon her ; Search ye for each warrior well, And let proud inscription tell How the one who slumbers, fell, On the field of honor. Ah ! no more their watch-fires beam, Nor their banners proudly stream ; Nor their sabres brightly gleam. In the front of battle. Ah ! we hear their shouts no more Kinging over fields of gore. Mingling with the cannon's roar, And the musket's rattle. Glorious army of the dead. Which from foemen never fled. Which the " Stonewall " hero led To a death of duty. For you For you For you while the mountains rise, while the South wind sighs, tears shall dim the ej^es, Of our peerless beauty. SILENCE. 527 xlzxtct . BY LIEUT. J. E. DOOLEY. There's silence in the prison, There's silence on the shore, Where no returning billows Eesounding hoarsely roar^' There's silence on the surface Of Erie's placid brow ; There's silence neath the waters, Which snioothly, softly flow. There's quiet in the moonlight, Which dances on the wave ; And silence of the midnight Enshrouds the prisoner's grave ! There's stillness round the couches Of captives' sleeping sound ; Their forms are wrapt in darkness. And silence floats around. All Nature silent slumbers In Luna's doubtful light; As conscious of our resting On Erie's shores to-nierht. 528 OUR SOUTUERN DEAD. &m Southern Qeair, BY FATHER A. J. RYAN. Gather the sacred dust Of the warriors tried and true, "Who bore the flag of our nation's trust, And fell in the cause, though lost, still just, And died for me and you. Gather them each and all ! From the private to the chief I Come they from hovel or princely hall, They fell for us, and for them should fall The tears of a nation's grief. Gather the corpses strewn O'er many a battle plain ; From many a grave that lies so lone, Without a name and without a stone, Gather the Southern slain. We care not whence they came, Dear is their lifeless clay ! Whether unknown or known to fame, Their cause and country still the same — They died — and wore the gray. Wherever the brave have died. They should not rest apart ; Living they struggled side by side. Why should the hand of death divide A single heart from heart ? Gather their scattered clay, Wherever it may rest j VIRGINIA CAPT^. 529 Just as they marched to the bloody fray, Just as they fell on the battle-day, Bury them breast to breast. The foeman need not dread This gathering of the brave ! Without sword or flag, and with soundless tread. We muster once more our deathless dead — Out of each lonely grave. The foeman need not frown ; They are all powerless now. We gather them here, and we lay them down, And tears and prayers are the only crown We bring to wreathe each brow. And the dead thus meet the dead, While the living o'er them weep ; And the men whom Lee and Stonewall led, And the hearts that once together bled, Together still shall sleep. BY MRS. M. J. PRESTON, OP VA. XJnconquered captive close thine eye, And draw the ashen sackcloth o'er. And in thy speechless woe deplore, The fate that would not let thee die ! The arm that wore the shield, strip bare ; 23 530 VIRGINIA CAPT^. The hand that held the martial rein, And hurled the spear on many a plain — Stretch till they clasp the shackles there I The foot that once could crush the crown, Must drag the fetters till it bleed Beneath their weight — thou dost not need It now, to tread the tyrant down ! Thou thought'st him vanquished — boastful trust His lance in twain, his sword a wreck, But with his heel upon tli^ neck, He holds thee prostrate in the dust. Bend though thou must, beneath his will, Let no one abject moan have place ; But with majestic silent grace. Maintain thy regal bearing still. Look back through all thy storied past, And sit erect in conscious pride. ITo grander heroes ever died — Ko sterner battled to the last. "Weep, if thou wilt, with proud, sad mien. Thy blasted hopes — thy peace undone ; Yet, brave, live on — nor seek to shun Thy fate, like Egypt's conquered Queen. Though forced a captive's place to fill. In the triumphal train — yet there Superbly, like Zenobia, wear Thy chains — ■ Virginia victrix still I THE MEN. 531 CIji! ITfir. BY MAURICE BELL. In the dusk of the forest shade, A sallow and dusty group reclined ; Gallops a horseman up the glade, — ''Where will I your leader find? Tidings I bring from the morning's scout, I've borne them o'er mount, and moor and fen." "Well, sir, stay not hereabout, Here are only a few of ' the men.' " Here no collar has bar or star. No rich lacing adorns the sleeve ; Farther on our officers are, Let them your report receive. Higher up — on the hill up there, Overlooking this shady glen. There are their quarters — don't stop here, We are only some of 'the men.' " Yet stay, courier, if you bear Tidings that the fight is near, Tell them we're ready, and that where They wish us to be we'll soon appear; Tell them only to let us know Where to form our ranks, and when ; And we'll teach the vaunting foe That they've met a few of ' the men ! ' "We're the men, though our clothes are worn. We're the men, though we wear no lace ; We're the men, who the foe have torn. And scattered their ranks in dire disgrace; We're the men who have triumphed before. 532 TO A PHOTOGRAPH. We're the men who will triumph again : For the dust, and the smoke, and the cannon's roar, And the clashing bayonets, ' we're the men ! ' " Ye who sneer at the battle-scars. Of garments faded, and soiled and bare, — Yet who have for the ' stars and bars ' Praise and homage and dainty fare, Mock the wearers and pass them on, Eefuse them a kindly word — and then Know, if your freedom is ever won By human agents — tliese are the men /" S^0 a ^bjotograplj. BY CAPT. J. B. CLARKE. This shadow of a distant friend, Eeflected by a sunbeam here, — Why must my heart before it bend ? Say, whence its power to soothe and cheer ? In vain, I summon back the years — Remembrances of woe or bliss ; Some come in mirth, and some in tears, But never comes a face like this. And why? If thou art all unknown, Sweet Lady, faintly shadowed there, Should I unlock my heart to thee, Disclosing all its weight of care ? Why should I wish to think a sigh TO A PHOTOGRAPH. 533 Had ever breathed upon thy lips ? Or that a tear might ever dim Thine eyes' soft splendor with eclipse ? To feel the sorrows of thy kind, And mourn them in a generous heart, Bestows a melancholy joy. Which wealth nor beauty can impart. I know my soul seeks not in vain Thy sympathy. It reads replies Upon thy fair brow's broad domain — On tender lips, — in truthful eyes. Ah, Southern Maiden, tell me why That earnest clasping of the hands? And what would seek thy lifted eye, In yonder fair, celestial lands ? Dost thou recall that hour's sweet pain. When burning cheek and heaving breast, Eevealed a truer love than e'er The pliant minion's words expressed ? Mayhap thy dreamy gaze, uplifting. Some radiant angel greets thy sight, Adown the cloudless ether drifting, Eesplendant in the purple light. And smiling from the upper Heaven, Upon thy truth and innocence — The pure behold the beautiful. Though hidden deep from grosser sense. Serenely, ever beat thy heart, Nor care thy fair young brow divide! Be all thy hours, like roses cast On some clear brook's unruffled tide I 534 VICKSBURG. © irksburg. BY PAUL H. HAYNE. For sixty days and upwards, A storm of shell and shot Eained round us in a flaming shower, But still we faltered not. " If the noble city perish," Our grand yoting leader said, " Let the only walls the foe shall scale Be ramparts of the dead I " For sixty days and upwards The eye of Heaven waxed dim. And e'en throughout Grod's holy morn, O'er Christians' prayer and hymn. Arose a hissing tumult, As if the fiends of air Strove to engulph the voice of faith In the shrieks of their despair. There was wailing in the houses. There was trembling on the marts, While the tempest raged and thundered, 'Mid the silent thrill of hearts ; But the Lord, our shield, was with us ; And e're a month had sped, Our very women walked the streets, With scarce one throb of dread. And the little children gamboled — Their faces purely raised, Just for a wondering moment, As the hu^e bombs whirled and blazed ! VICKSBURG. 535 Then turned with silvery laughter To the sports which children love, Thrice mailed in the sweet instructive thought That the good God watched above.* Tet the hailing bolts fell faster From scores of flame-clad ships, And about us denser, darker, Grew the conflict's wild eclipse ; Till a solid cloud closed o'er us. Like a type of doom and ire, Whence shot, a thousand quivering tongues Of forked and venofeful fire. o But the unseen hands of Angels Those death-shafts turned aside. And the dove of heavenly mercy Euled o'er the battle tide ; In the houses ceased the wailing, And through the war-scarred marts The people trod with the step of hope, To the music in their hearts. * It has been stated by one professing to have witnessed the fact, that some weeks after the beginning of this terrific bombardment, not only were ladies seen coolly walking the streets, but that, in some parts of the town, children were observed at play, only interrupting their sports to gaze and listen to the bursting shells. 536 FAREWELL TO JOHNSON'S ISLAND. "^ift^angtb!" BY MAj. GEO. Mcknight. From his dim prison house by Lake Erie's bleak shore, He is borne to his last resting place ; The glow of affection and friendship no more Shall rest on the captive's wan face ; The terms of his ^^ cartel " his God has arranged, And the pris'ner of war has at length been " exchanged." His comrades consign his remains to the earth, With a tear and a sigh of regret ; He died far away from the land of his birth, From a land he could never forget. 'Mid the scenes of his boyhood his fancy last ranged, Ere the sorrows of life and its cares were "exchanged." The clods of the Island now rest on the head, That the fierce storm of battle had sj^ared; On the field that was strewn with the dying and dead, . Whose hardships and perils he shared ; From home, and from all that he loved, long estranged. Death pitied his lot, and the captive " exchanged." JfanfodI to Jfobnsoit's fslantr. BY MAJ. GEO. MCKNIGHT. I LEAVE thy shores, O hated Isle, Where misery marked my days ; And seek the land where loved ones smile. FAREWELL TO JOHNSON'S ISLAND. 537 Where summer scenes the heart beguile, In genial, balmy rays. I quit thy loathsome prison walls, With joyous, bounding heart, To tread again the Southern halls, To go where'er my duty calls, And bear my humble part. No more thy snows (God grant no more !) Will robe my prison cell ; Nor icy wind beat 'gainst my door, Kor storm-blasts round my prison roar, Within this Northern hell. No more my ears will hear the cry Of Southern braves, for bread ; Nor scenes of sorrow meet mine eye — Where those fare worse who cannot die. Than those already dead. But soft I'll drop a parting tear, In memory of those Who lost to loving hearts fore'er. Now rest in dreamless slumber here, Secure from hated foes. Then haste thee, steam and friendly wind, To bear me from this shore ; To leave this wretched soil behind, To bear me where my heart shall find Freedom forever more ! 558 *'CLINGINa TO THEE." A SONG. BY. MAJ. S. Y. LEVY. When the star of hope shines brightly, And the soul is glad and free ; "When the spirit soars up lightly — Thou, my love, art all to me, And the j^rayer I utter nightly Centres ^round and breathes of thee. When adversity frowns grimly, Quelling gladness, joy and glee ; When the star of hope shines dimly — Thou, my love, art all to me ; And the more it darkens dimly, Cling I closer, love, to thee ! And as life shall vary, never — ISTever from thee may I be ; Neither storm nor shine shall sever Thee, my love, my life, from me ! Harder blows the gale, oh ! ever Cling I closer, love, to thee ! mx^d m ^ris0n. BY LIEUT. J. E. DOOLEY. GrENTLE sunbeams brightly fall O'er ray heated prison wall ; Smiling sunbeams full of love. Kindly cheer us from above ; THE CONQUERED BANNER. 539 Evening sunshine hither darts Mellow glances on our hearts; Lovely glows the Western sky, Fringed with gorgeous crimson dye ; Changing clouds their splendor lose, Fainter grow the crimson hues; Phoebus seeks his welcome bed, Twilight comes with stealthy tread; Hazy forms surround us all, Dark'ning shadows 'round us fall ; Night descending fills the room, Bringing sadness with its gloom. Cl^-e ^anc^mxt)^ '§Knmx. BY " MOINA.'' [The Rev. A. J. Ryan, of Knoxville, Diocese of Nashville, Tennessee.] Furl that Banner, for 'tis weary ; Bound its staff 'tis drooping dreary ; Furl it, fold it, it is best : For there's not a man to wave it. And there's not a sword to save it. And there's not one left to lave it In the blood which heroes gave it; And its foes now scorn and brave it; Furl it, hide it — let it rest. Take that Banner down, 'tis tattered ; Broken is its staff and shattered ; And the valiant hosts are scattered, Over whom it floated high. Oh ! 'tis hard fo;* us to fold it ; Hard to think there's none to hold it; Hard that those, who once unrolled it, 540 THE CONQUERED BANNER. Now must furl it with a sigh. o Furl that Banner — furl it sadly; Once ten thousands hailed it gladly, And ten thousands wildly, madly. Swore it should forever wave ; Swore that foeraan's sword would never Hearts like theirs entwined dissever, Till that flag should float forever O'er their freedom, or their grave ! Furl it ! for the hands that grasped it, And the hearts that fondly clasped it, Cold and dead are lying low ; And that Banner — it is trailing! "While around it sounds the wailing Of its people in their woe. For, though conquered, they adore it! Love the cold, dead hands that bore it ! Weep for those who fell before it ! Pardon those who trailed and tore it! But, oh ! wildly they deplore it, Now who furl and fold it so. Furl that Banner ! True, 'tis gory, Yet 'tis wreathed around with glory. And 'twill live in song and story, Though its folds are in the dust : For its fame on brightest pages, Penned by poets and by sages. Shall go sounding down the ages — Furl its folds though now we m'ust. Furl that Banner, softly, slowly, Treat it gently — it is holy — For it droops above the dead. Touch it not — unfold it never. Let it droop there, furled forever, For its people's hopes are dead ! On page 249, for " Larvegne," read Lavergne. 252, " First Love," Author— Col. B, H. Jones. " 254, for " At noontide of our manhood," read '•'■And at noontide," «fec. " 255, for •' Lieut. Howard," read Lieut. Howard C. Wright " 260, in 7th stanza, for " waves," read waved. " 276, in the last line for " one " Brigade, read our Brigade. " 279, in 4th line from bottom, for " limps," read linibs. " 280, in 5th line from top, for " come," read came. " 282, in 16th line from top, for " there," read these. " 302, in 20th line from top, for " was carved," read were carved. " 308, in first line of Biographical Sketch of Lieut. Howard C. Wright, for '' this accomplished," read the accomplished. " 310, in 7th line of 3rd stanza, for " gleaming," read glancing. " 316, in 4th line, for "their companions," read his companions. " 322, in 3rd stanza, for " deck his dead," read deck his head. " 332, in lOth line from top, for " beast," read beasts. •' 334, in 16th line from top, for " difference," read diffidence. " 335, in 12th line from bottom, for " no letters," read in letters. " 341, in 16th line, for " of infancy," read of oxi7' infancy. " 341, in 18th line, for " is was granted," read it was granted. " 349, in lOth line of Biographical Sketch of Col. W. W. Fontaine, for " flowed," read flows. " 354, for Adjutant John V. " Sherter," read Shorter. ' " 356, for Lieut. J. E. " Dooles," read Dooley. " 356, in 3rd stanza, 2d line, for " ever best," read ever blest. " 357, for " swarthy king," read swarthy kings. " 369, for " Shenandoah crawls," read Shenandoah braiols. " 374, for " weeping women came," read weeping women come. 382, in 2d line, lOth stanza, for " Bold ," read Ben Butler. " 383, in the first line of "The Women of the South," for "recovered," read recorded. " 383, for " East Atlanta," read Potomac. " 387, in 2d line, 1st stanza, for "bends his marble brow," read beads his marble brow. " 389, in 14th line from bottom, for " night might," read mid-night. " 430, in 2d line of 3d stanza, for " knew," read know. RARE BOOK COLLECTION THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA AT CHAPEL HILL Wilmer 626