the privilege of nursing in the hospital had been bought at a dear price, for it was decided positively that i was to surrender, for the present, my dream of following the army. i was remanded to the mountains, and at charlottesville i had news of the events that rapidly followed the seven days' battles around richmond.

mcclellan had been relieved of his command, and the defenceless women and children of northern virginia were handed over to the tender mercies of general pope. mcclellan wrote, august 8: "i will strike square in the teeth of all the infamous orders of mr. john pope, and forbid all pillaging and stealing, and take the highest christian ground for the conduct of the war. i will not permit this army to degenerate into a mob of thieves, nor will i return these men of mine to their families as a set of wicked and demoralized robbers."

general pope had announced his purpose (which he carried out) to subsist his army on our country, and to hang or shoot any non-combating citizens who might fall into his hands, in retaliation for the killing of his soldiers. this was one of "the infamous orders of mr. john pope" to which general 194 mcclellan alluded; but infamy to some eyes is fame to others. pope superseded mcclellan; but he was himself superseded after his defeat at the hands of lee, and mcclellan reinstated.

my husband's brigade followed general lee, fought the battle of manassas, where he captured and paroled the hospital corps, went with him throughout the campaign, into maryland and back, fought the battle of south mountain and the bloody battle of antietam (or sharpsburg).

the histories of these battles have been given again and again by the military commanders who conducted them. at the close of the campaign general lee reported that his men were in the finest possible condition—only there were too few of them. as the federal armies were depleted, they could be re?nforced by foreigners. as our men were lost, we had no fresh troops to take their places.

my husband commanded anderson's division at antietam, general anderson having been wounded. this battle is quoted, along with the battle of seven pines, as one of the most hotly contested of the war. sorely pressed at one time, general pryor despatched an orderly to general longstreet with a request for artillery. the latter tore the margin from a newspaper and wrote: "i am sending you the guns, dear general. this is a hard fight and we had better all die than lose it." at one time during the battle the combatants agreed upon a brief cessation, that the dead and wounded of both sides might be removed. while general pryor waited, a federal officer approached him. 195

"general," said he, "i have just detected one of my men in robbing the body of one of your soldiers. i have taken his booty from him, and now consign it to you."

without examining the small bundle,—tied in a handkerchief,—my husband ordered it to be properly enclosed and sent to me. the handkerchief contained a gold watch, a pair of gold sleeve-links, a few pieces of silver, and a strip of paper on which was written, "strike till the last armed foe expires," and signed "a florida patriot." there seemed to be no clew by which i might hope to find an inheritor for these treasures. i could only take care of them.

i brought them forth one day to interest an aged relative, whose chair was placed in a sunny window. "i think, my dear," she said, "there are pin-scratched letters on the inside of these sleeve-buttons." sure enough, there were three initials, rudely made, but perfectly plain.

long afterward i met a confederate officer from florida who had fought at antietam.

"did you know any one from your state, captain, who was killed at sharpsburg?"

"alas! yes," he replied, and mentioned a name corresponding exactly with the scratched initials.

the parcel, with a letter from me, was sent to an address he gave me, and in due time i received a most touching letter of thanks from the mother of the dead soldier.

general lee went into winter quarters at culpeper, and thither i repaired to visit a kind and hospitable family, who were good enough to invite 196 me. in their home i spent two weeks. i had not imagined there were so many soldiers in the world as i saw then. "you cannot take a step anywhere," said a lady, "without treading on a soldier!" they were in the finest spirits, notwithstanding their long marches and short rations. thousands on thousands of federal troops were in virginia. the highways of our chief rivers were closed, our railroads menaced. everything we needed was already scarce and held at high prices. nobody had comforts or luxuries; nobody murmured because of such privations.

we made our host's drawing-room a camping ground, his fire our camp-fire. around it gathered a nightly crowd of gay young soldiers. they wished no serious talk, these young warriors! they had a brief respite from fatigue and sorrow, and they intended to enjoy it. they sentimentalized, however, over the tender and mournful song, "lorena," which even then touched a chord in every heart, and which meant so much of devotion and heartbreak two years later. for four years the daughters of the south waited for their lovers, and some, alas! waited forever.

"it matters little now, lorena,

the past is the eternal past,

our heads will soon lie low, lorena,

life's tide is ebbing out so fast;

but there's a future—oh! thank god—

of life this is so small a part;

'tis dust to dust beneath the sod,

but there, up there,—'tis heart to heart."

197

with pretty nelly at the piano, her blue eyes raised to heaven, and jack fleming accompanying her on her guitar, his dark eyes raised to nelly, the effect was overwhelming; and lest somebody should quite finish us by singing, "flee as a bird to the mountain," we would hasten to demand the "bonnie blue flag," or "dixie," or the polite invitation to "joe hooker" to "come out the wilderness," or, better still, a good story. the latter call would bring many we had heard before—there are so few good stories in the world—but we would welcome each one with applause, even if it were no better than the story of captain —— (i can't remember the captain's name) and his black boy "c?sar." i can only vouch for the story, which ran thus:—

the captain, going into a skirmish one day, left his tent and its contents in the care of the boy. "mayn't i go he'p de cook?" said c?sar, much desiring to place himself farther in the rear.

"stay here, sir, and protect my property!" sternly commanded his master.

c?sar, when left alone, grew unhappy, and when straggling shot fell like hail around the tent, he incontinently fled and hid in the bushes. when he returned, he found an angry captain indeed.

"you rascal! didn't i leave you here to protect my property? it might have been all stolen."

"i knows it, sah, i knows it! an' i did purtect yo' property, sah! i sholy did! dem ole cloes ain' wuth nothin'! i'se feared to bresh 'em less'n i git a hole in 'em; but dis property," laying his hand 198 proudly on his breast, "dis property is wuth fifteen hundred dollars!"

of course so good a story was soon capped by another. one of the boys who had been with my general at williamsburg could tell it. a shell had entered the domain of pots and kettles and created what domingo the cook termed a "clatteration." he at once started for the rear.

"what's de matter, mingo?" asked a fellow-servant, "whar you gwine wid such a hurrification?"

"i gwine to git out o' trouble—dar whar i gwine. dar's too much powder in dem big things. dis chile ain't gwine bu'n hisself! an' dar's dem minnie bullets, too, comin' frew de a'r, singin': 'whar—is—you? whar—is—you?' i ain't gwine stop an' tell 'em whar i is! i'se a twenty-two-hundurd-dollar nigger, an' i'se gwine tek keer o' what b'longs to marster, i is."

of course we heard again the story of stonewall jackson's body-servant, who always knew before anybody when a battle was imminent.

"the general tells you, i suppose," said one of the soldiers.

"lawd, no, sir! de gin'ral nuvver tell me nothin'! i observates de 'tention of de gin'ral dis way: co'se he prays, jest like we all, mornin' an' night; but when he gits up two, three times in a night to pray, den i rubs my eye and gits up too, an' packs de haversack,—ca'se i done fine out dere's gwine to be de ole boy to pay right away."

amusing as were the negro stories, there were plenty of others, revealing the peculiar characteristics 199 of the common soldier. the soldier from rural districts was a trial to his officers in the early days of the war. nothing could make him hurry. "if he came to a stream, he would deliberately look around for two fence-rails and put them across, and the time consumed by a company in crossing in this way can be imagined. if his feet hurt him, he would sit down on the roadside to tie rags around them." he never could be made to understand that freedom of speech with an officer, who had been perhaps a neighbor, was denied him; nor yet that he could not indulge in good-natured chaff or criticism.

"are you sentinel here?" asked an officer, who found a sentry sitting down and cleaning his gun, having taken it entirely to pieces.

"well, i am a sort of sentinel, i reckon."

"well, i am a sort of officer of the day."

"is that so? just hold on till i get my gun together, and i will give you a sort of a salute."[16]

when a picket guard at harper's ferry was being detailed for duty, one of these verdant volunteers loudly protested against that manner of carrying on war.

"what's the use of gwine out thar to keep everybody off?" he shouted. "we've all kem here to hev a fight with them yankees, an' ef you sen' fellers out thar to skeer 'em off, how in thunder are we gwine to hev a scrimmage?"

in the hardest times of starvation and weariness, according to our soldier boys, the situation would be relieved by the drollery of some good-natured, great-hearted 200 countryman. officers who had an easy place, and musicians, for a similar reason, were their special targets. rather than be tormented, musicians would often leave the line of march and go through fields to avoid the running fire. "ah, now! give us a toot on yer old funnel," or, "brace up thar with yer blowpipe!"

these fellows who didn't fight were all classed under the general term of "bomb-proofs." one of these officers—a little man—having appeared in an enormous pair of cavalry boots, ran the gantlet of a neighboring brigade and heard a frank opinion of himself:—

"i say, mister, better git out'r them smokestacks! we know you're in thar 'cause we all kin see yer head stickin' out. you needn' say yer ain't in thar,—'cause yer ears is workin' powerful."

the allusion to the celebrated long-eared animal was awful!

if a "bomb-proof" officer—a fellow who had a position in the rear—should happen to be smartly dressed when cantering along near a regiment, he would be apt to change his canter to a gallop as the men would shout and whoop:—

"oh, my! ain't he pooty? say, mister! whar'd ye git that biled shut? was ye ra-a-ly born so, or was ye put together by corntrack? sich a nice-lookin' rooster oughter git down an' scratch for a wurrum!"

even when a brigade would pass at double-quick, going into a battle in which the waiting soldier expected any moment to take part, the latter would call out:— 201

"what's your hurry, boys? gwine to ketch a train?"

they made great fun, too, of their own fears, never considering them worthy of being treated seriously, or as in any way detrimental.

under fire at manassas, a raw recruit was doing pretty well, when a rabbit loped across the field. dropping his gun as he was about to shoot, he yelled, with honest pathos:—

"go it, little cotton-tail, go it! i'm jest as skeered as you be, an' ef i dar'd, i'd run too."

a number of militia having given way under fire, their commanding officer called out to one of the fugitives:—

"what are you running away for, you —— —— coward? you ought to be ashamed of yourself."

"i ain't runnin' away, gin'ral! i'm just skeered! them fellers over thar are shootin' bullets as big as watermillions! one of 'em went right peerst my head—right peerst;—an'—an' i wants to go home."

"well, why didn't you shoot back, sir? you are crying like a baby."

"i knows it, gin'ral—i knows it. i wish i was a baby, and a gal-baby, too, and then i wouldn't hev been cornscripted."

the regiments of georgia, north carolina, and virginia could never pass each other without some chaffing challenge.

"hello, north car'lina," said an officer to a lanky specimen in a shabby uniform.

"hello, virginia." 202

"blockade on turpentine making? you all hard up? no sale for tar now?"

"well—yes!" was the slow rejoinder. "we sell all our tar to jeff davis now."

"the thunder you do! what does the president want with your tar?"

"he puts it on the heels of virginians to make 'em stick to the battle-field."

the staff officer rode on.

a good story had found its way into our lines from a federal officer. he was commenting upon the fact that all southern women were intense rebels—with one exception. he had been with others marching down a wooded lane which ended in a sharp curve. as they rounded it, they suddenly came upon a house, before which was a woman picking up chips. as she had evidently not seen them, the officer tiptoed up to her, put his arm around her waist, and kissed her—and stepped back to avoid the box on the ear he knew he deserved. the woman, however, straightened herself, looked at him seriously for a moment, and said slowly, "you'll find me right here every mornin' a-pickin' up chips."

it would seem that the telling of stories of a mildly humorous nature, with the characteristic of dialect, was a feature of the war-time,—the president of the united states affording a notable example. when the gravest matters were under consideration, all things were held in abeyance until the illustrative anecdote was duly presented. how mr. seward chafed under them we all know. the poor little stories that went the rounds among the rank and file at the camp-fires 203 in virginia had their uses. whatever the weariness, the discouragement, the failure of the wagons to come up with provisions, by such simple means did the brave boys lighten their own and each others' hearts. whenever they had cards they played; but before going into battle the camp-ground would be strewn with them, the soldier of the rank and file always emptying his pockets of his cards! his testament was pocketed in their stead.

in repeating these stories around our blazing log fire, and in describing their marches and hard times, the brave fellows made sport of all their discomforts and of their shifts to supplement deficiencies. they told with merriment of the times they had proudly drawn over their bruised feet boots found on the march, and had suffered such agony from the swelling of the compressed members that they were fain to implore a comrade to cut off the instrument of torture; of the time mr. giddings and his pretty daughters entertained them in maryland, and of their dreadful embarrassment at finding they had ravenously swept the table of every biscuit, every bit of ham, every raw tomato—and had wanted, oh, so much more! and how some of them had been captured and soon released; but while prisoners and waiting for a train, how a federal officer had talked most kindly to them, inquiring for old west point comrades of his who were on our side; and how they on their part had asked after the welfare of captain john lea of petersburg, who had been captured at williamsburg,—to be told by this federal officer that captain lea had been dreadfully wounded, and while 204 in the hospital had been nursed by a young lady with whom he fell in love, and that the officer had been present at their marriage in williamsburg, and through his intercession and that of other old west point comrades captain lea had been released. when the time came for parting with the courteous officer our boys had respectfully requested his name. "my name is custer," he said. "i do not belong to any regiment, but am on the staff of general mcclellan." he was none other than the famous george a. custer of the united states cavalry, destined to win for himself immortal renown, and to meet gallantly an early death in the fight with the indians on the little big horn river.

many of these soldier boys—"boys" now no longer, but "veterans"—were from petersburg, and had stood in line on the day when alice and tabb and marian and molly and all the other girls had waited with me to see them off. it was delightful to meet them and to hear news of the others. where was will johnson? where was berry stainback? will had been captured "for no reason whatever except that he and berry had but one blanket between them, and will had to get himself captured when he found berry had been, in order to continue to share the blanket, which was in berry's possession," a story which will's friends could safely invent for their amusement, as his known courage was beyond all doubt.

general "jeb" stuart was a great hero with these soldier boys, dashing as he did all over the country with his eight thousand mounted men. he was our 205 plumed knight—with his gold star and long feather. they never wearied of stories of his promptness, his celerity, his meteorlike dashes.

"they'll never catch him!" said one proudly. "they'll always reach the place where he recently was."

"he reminds me of the knights of the olden time," said a young lady.

"the medi?val knight, my dear young lady," said general johnson, "would be of little use in this war. he would have stood no chance with one of stuart's men."

"fancy him," said another, "with his two hundred weight of iron on him, and as much on his big cart-horse. imagine him, armed with a maul or a lance, a battle-axe, and six-foot pole, going into a fight at manassas or antietam."

"he would never get there," said the general. "a light cavalryman of the first virginia would have ridden around king arthur or sir launcelot half a dozen times while the knight was bracing himself up for action; and the chicopee sabre would have searched out the joints under his chin, or his arm, or his sword-belt, and would have shucked him like an oyster before he could get his lance in rest."

and jackson was another of their idols. stories of his strategy, his courage, his faith in god, his successes, filled many an hour around the camp-fire in the hospitable culpeper mansion.

but the chief idol of their hearts—of all our hearts—was our beloved commander, our bayard sans peur et sans reproche, general lee. the hand 206 instinctively sought the cap at the mention of his name. indignant comments were made upon the newspaper criticisms of his early misfortunes in the western part of virginia in the autumn of 1861, and one occasion was remembered when, his own attention having been directed to a fierce newspaper attack, as unjust in its conclusions as it was untrue in its statements, he was asked why he silently suffered such unwarranted aspersions; and he had calmly replied that, while it was very hard to bear, it was perhaps quite natural that such hasty conclusions should be announced, and that it was better not to attempt a justification or defence, but to go steadily on in the discharge of duty to the best of our ability, leaving all else to the calmer judgment of the future and to a kind providence.

happy was the private soldier who had seen general lee, thrice happy the one who had spoken to him. of the latter, a plain countryman, having listened to the personal incidents of his fellows, as they related various occasions when they had been noticed by general lee, was fired by a desire to emulate them, and confided that he, too, had once enjoyed a very interesting and gratifying interview with general lee. importuned to tell it, the soldier modestly hesitated, but urged by an evident incredulity on the part of his hearers, he took heart of grace and related as follows:—

"i was jest out of the horspittle an' was natchelly strollin' round when the scrimmage was goin' on, and i saw gen'ral lee on a little rise not fur off. i santered closer an' closer to him, and when i saw 207 him look at me i says, 'pretty warm work over thar, gen'ral.' he give me a keen look, an' says he, quiet-like: 'where do you belong? where's your regiment?' an' i says, 'i'm lookin' for my regiment now—twelfth virginia.' 'i can help you,' says he; 'there is your regiment just going into the fight. hurry up an' join it.' an' i run off proud as a pigeon."

"didn't you think you might get shot?" asked his comrade.

"i suttenly did! i always thinks that. but then, thinks i, gen'ral lee will be mighty sorry 'cause he knowed he sent me into danger when i was feelin' mighty weak an' poly."

the incidents were many which the officers and soldiers could remember, illustrating the dear commander's peculiar traits. his aide, colonel taylor, has written me of one most touching incident:—

"tidings reached general lee, soon after his return to virginia, of the serious illness of one of his daughters—the darling of his flock. for several days apprehensions were entertained that the next intelligence would be of her death. one morning the mail was received, and the private letters were distributed as was the custom; but no one knew whether any home news had been received by the general. at the usual hour he summoned me to his presence, to know if there were any matters of army routine upon which his judgment and action were desired. the papers containing a few such cases were presented to him; he reviewed, and gave his orders in regard to them. i then left him, but 208 for some cause returned in a few moments, and with my accustomed freedom entered his tent without announcement or ceremony, when i was startled and shocked to see him overcome with grief, an open letter in his hand. that letter contained the sad intelligence of his daughter's death.

"scarcely less to be admired than his sublime devotion to duty," continued colonel taylor, "was his remarkable self-control. general lee was naturally of a positive temperament, and of strong passions; and it is a mistake to suppose him otherwise; but he held these in complete subjection to his will and conscience. he was not one of those invariably amiable men, whose temper is never ruffled; but when we consider the immense burden which rested upon him, and the numberless causes for annoyance with which he had to contend, the occasional cropping out of temper which we, who were constantly near him, witnessed, only showed how great was his habitual self-command.

"he had a great dislike to reviewing army communications; this was so thoroughly appreciated by me that i would never present a paper for his action unless it was of decided importance, and of a nature to demand his judgment and decision. on one occasion, when an audience had not been asked of him for several days, it became necessary to have one. the few papers requiring his action were submitted. he was not in a very pleasant mood; something irritated him, and he manifested his ill humor by a little nervous twist or jerk of the neck and head, peculiar to himself, accompanied by some 209 harshness of manner. this was perceived by me, and i hastily concluded that my efforts to save him annoyance were not appreciated. in disposing of some case of a vexatious character, matters reached a climax; he became really worried, and, forgetting what was due to my superior, i petulantly threw the paper down at my side and gave evident signs of anger. then, in a perfectly calm and measured tone of voice, he said, 'colonel taylor, when i lose my temper, don't you let it make you angry.'

"was there ever a more gentle and considerate, and yet so positive, reproof? how magnanimous in the great soldier, and yet how crushing to the subordinate! the rash and disrespectful conduct of the latter would have justified, if it did not demand, summary treatment at the hands of the former. instead of this, the first man of his day and generation, great and glorious in his humility, condescended to occupy the same plane with his youthful subaltern, and to reason with him as an equal, frankly acknowledging his own imperfections, but kindly reminding the inferior at the same time of his duty and his position." great indeed must be the man whom we can love all the better for his human weakness.