my husband's duties kept him from home several days at a time during the early autumn, but now that the lines were drawn so closely together, he could usually return to us after reporting to general lee at night. i had ceased to feel anxious when he rode away in the morning on his gray horse, jubal early. jubal had brought him safely through many a difficulty. once he found himself suddenly confronted by a small company of federals aligned for drill. he saluted, as if he were an officer on inspection, rode gravely past the line, and then jubal's fleet feet dashed quite out of range before the volley which followed the discovery of his ruse.

one frosty morning i was writing letters,—to agnes, to my mother, to my little girls in charlotte, expressing the gratitude of my heart for the new blessings of the hour,—when general wilcox entered, and took his accustomed stand before the fire.

"madam," he commenced, "is the general at home?"

"no, general, he did not return last night."

"you are not uneasy?" 307

"not a bit. he sometimes stops at mrs. friend's when he is belated. she's his cousin, you know."

"of course!" laughed the general. "all the pretty women in virginia are cousins to the virginia officers. couldn't you naturalize a few unfortunates who were not born in virginia?"

i was sealing and stamping my letters, and looked up without immediately answering his badinage. to my surprise his face was pale and his lip quivering.

"you have to know it," said he. "the general will not return. the yankees caught him this morning."

"oh, impossible!" i exclaimed. "jubal never fails."

"look out of the window," said the general.

there stood jubal! a groom was removing his saddle. general wilcox most kindly hastened to reassure me. "it will be all right," he declared. "a little rest for the general, and we will soon exchange him."

i was completely stunned. i had never expected this. my head reeled. my heart sickened within me.

as i sat thus, shivering beside the fire, i heard the clank of spurs, and looked up. an officer was at the door.

"madam," he said, "general lee sends you his affectionate sympathies."

through the open window i saw the general on his horse, traveller, standing at the well. he waited until his messenger returned, and then rode slowly toward the lines. 308

i had small hope of the speedy exchange promised me by general wilcox. from day to day he reported the efforts made for my husband's release and their failure. general lee authorized a letter to general meade, detailing the circumstances of his capture and requesting his release. general meade promptly refused to release him.

we naturally looked to the enemy for all information, and although my husband had written me a pencilled note at city point on the inside of a confederate envelope, and had implored his guard (a federal officer) to have it inserted in a new york paper, i did not receive it until thirty-one years afterward. we soon had news, however, through a despatch from the north army corps to the new york herald. the paper of november 30, 1864, contained the following:—

"yesterday a rebel officer made his appearance in front of our lines, waving a paper for exchange. the officer in charge of the picket, suddenly remembering that major burrage, of the thirty-sixth massachusetts, was taken prisoner some time since by the enemy while on a similar errand, 'gobbled' the rebel, who proved to be the famous roger a. pryor, ex-member of congress and ex-brigadier-general of jeff davis's army. he protested vehemently against what he styled a flagrant breach of faith on our part. he was assured he was taken in retaliation for like conduct on the part of his friends, and sent to general meade's headquarters for further disposition."

press despatch to herald, november 30, from washington, "roger a. pryor has been brought 309 to washington, and committed to the old capitol prison."

herald, december 1, 1864, "pryor was ferried over to fort lafayette, where he is now confined."

then later i received a personal through the news: "to mrs. r. a. pryor. your husband is in fort lafayette, where a friend and relative is permitted to visit him.—[signed] mary rhodes."

not until december, 1864, could colonel ould arrange to have a letter from me sent through the lines. all letters from and to prisoners were examined by federal officials.

on the 20th of december i received a brief note from fort lafayette: "my philosophy begins to fail somewhat. in vain i seek some argument of consolation. i see no chance of release. the conditions of my imprisonment cut me off from every resource of happiness."

i learned afterward that he was ill, and under the care of a physician all winter, but he tried to write as encouragingly as possible. in february, however, he failed in health and spirits, but bore up bravely:—

"i am as contented as is compatible with my condition. my mind is ill at ease from my solicitude for my family and my country. every disaster pierces my soul like an arrow; and i am afflicted with the thought that i am denied the privilege of contributing even my mite to the deliverance of ——. how i envy my old comrades their hardships and privations. i have little hope of an early exchange, and you may be assured my mistrust is not without 310 reason. except some special instance be employed to procure my release, my detention here will be indefinite. i cannot be more explicit. while this is my conviction, i wish it distinctly understood that i would not have my government compromise any scruple for the sake of my liberation. i am prepared for any contingency—am fortified against any reverse of fortune."

the problem now confronting me was this: how could i maintain my children and myself? my husband's rations were discontinued. my only supply of food was from my father's ration as chaplain. i had a part of a barrel of flour which a relative had sent me from a county now cut off from us. quite a number of my old washington servants had followed me, to escape the shelling, but they could not, of course, look to me for their support. i frankly told john and eliza my condition, but they elected to remain. one day john presented himself with a heart-broken countenance and a drooping attitude of deep dejection. he had a sad story to tell. the agent of the estate to which he belonged was in town, and john had been commissioned to inform me that all the slaves belonging to the estate were to be immediately transferred to a louisiana plantation for safety. those of us who had hired these servants by the year were to be indemnified for our loss.

"how do you feel about it, john?" i asked.

the poor fellow broke down. "it will kill me," he declared. "i'll soon die on that plantation."

all his affectionate, faithful service, all his hardships 311 for our sakes, the averill raid, rushed upon my memory. i bade him put me in communication with the agent. i found that i could save the boy only by buying him. a large sum of gold was named as the price. i unbuckled my girdle and counted my handful of gold—one hundred and six dollars. these i offered to the agent (who was a noted negro trader), and although it was far short of his figures, he made out my bill of sale receipted.

when john appeared with smiling face he informed me with his thanks that he belonged to me.

"you are a free man, john," i said. "i will make out your papers and i can very easily arrange for you to pass the lines."

"i know that," he said. "marse roger has often told me i was a free man. i never will leave you till i die. papers indeed! papers nothing! i belong to you—that's where i belong."

all that dreadful winter he was faithful to his promise, cheerfully bearing, without wages, all the privations of the time. sometimes, when the last atom of food was gone, he would ask for money, sally forth with a horse and light cart, and bring in peas and dried apples. once a week we were allowed to purchase the head of a bullock, horns and all, from the commissary; and a small ration of rice was allowed us by the government. a one-armed boy, alick, who had been reared in my father's family, now wandered in to find his old master, and installed himself as my father's servant.

the question that pressed upon me day and night was: how, where, can i earn some money? to be 312 answered by the frightful truth that there could be no opening for me anywhere, because i could not leave my children.

one wakeful night, while i was revolving these things, a sudden thought darted, unbidden, into my sorely oppressed mind:—

"why not open the trunk from washington? something may be found there which can be sold."

at an early hour next morning john and alick brought the trunk from the cellar. aunt jinny, eliza, and the children gathered around. it proved to be full of my old washington finery. there were a half-dozen or more white muslin gowns, flounced and trimmed with valenciennes lace, many yards; there was a rich bayadere silk gown trimmed fully with guipure lace; a green silk dress with gold embroidery; a blue and silver brocade,—these last evening gowns. there was a paper box containing the shaded roses i had worn to lady napier's ball, the ball at which mrs. douglas and i had dressed alike in gowns of tulle. another box held the garniture of green leaves and gold grapes which had belonged to the green silk; and still another the blue and silver feathers for the brocade. an opera cloak trimmed with fur; a long purple velvet cloak; a purple velvet "coalscuttle" bonnet, trimmed with white roses; a point lace handkerchief; valenciennes lace; brussels lace; and at the bottom of the trunk a package of ciel blue zephyr, awakening reminiscences of a passion which i had cherished for knitting shawls and "mariposas" of zephyr,—such was the collection i had discovered. 313

the velvet cloak had come to grief. somebody had put the handsome books president pierce had given me into this box, for special safe-keeping; and all these years the cloak had cushioned the books so that they made no inroads upon the other articles, and had given up its own life in their protection. not an inch of the garment was ever fit for use. it was generously printed all over with the large cords and tassels of its own trimming.

these were my materials. i must make them serve for the support of my family.

i ripped all the lace from the evening gowns, and made it into collars and undersleeves. john found an extinct dry-goods store where clean paper boxes could be had.

my first instalment of lace collars was sent to price's store in richmond and promptly sold. mr. price wrote me that all of my articles would find purchasers. there were ladies in richmond who could afford to buy, and the confederate court offered opportunities for display.

admiral porter records the capture of a blockade-runner whose valuable goods included many commissions for "ladies at court. in the cabin of the vessel," says the admiral, "was a pile of bandboxes in which were charming little bonnets marked with the owners' names. it would have given me much pleasure to have forwarded them to their destination" (the admiral had ever a weakness for southern ladies) "but the laws forbade our giving aid and comfort to the enemy, so all the french bonnets, cloaks, shoes, and other feminine bric-à-brac 314 had to go to new york for condemnation by the admiralty court, and were sold at public auction.

"these bonnets, laces, and other vanities rather clashed with the idea i had formed of the southern ladies, as i heard that all they owned went to the hospitals, and that they never spent a cent on their personal adornment; but human nature," sagely opines the admiral, "is the same the world over, and ladies will indulge in their little vanities in spite of war and desolation."[20] to these vanities i now found myself indebted.

the zeal with which i worked knew no pause. i needed no rest. general wilcox, who was in the saddle until a late hour every night, said to me, "your candle is the last light i see at night—the first in the morning."

"i should never sleep," i told him.

one day i consulted eliza about the manufacture of a confederate candle. we knew how to make it—by drawing a cotton rope many times through melted wax, and then winding it around a bottle. we could get wax, but our position was an exposed one. soldiers' tents were close around us, and we scrupulously avoided any revelation of our needs, lest they should deny themselves for our sakes. eliza thought we might avail ourselves of the absence of the officers, and finish our work before they returned. we made our candle; but that night, as i sat sewing beside its dim, glow-worm light, i heard a step in the hall, and a hand, hastily thrust out, placed a brown paper parcel on the 315 piano near the door. it was a soldier's ration of candles!

after i had converted all my laces into collars, cuffs, and sleeves, and had sold my silk gowns, opera cloak, and point lace handkerchiefs, i devoted myself to trimming the edges of the artificial flowers, and separating the long wreaths and garlands into clusters for hats and bouquets de corsage.

eliza and the children delighted in this phase of my work, and begged to assist,—all except aunt jinny.

"honey," she said, "don't you think, in these times of trouble, you might do better than tempt them po' young lambs in richmond to worship the golden calf and bow down to mammon? we prays not to be led into temptation, and you sho'ly is leadin' 'em into vanity."

"maybe so, aunt jinny, but i must sell all i can. we have to be clothed, you know, war or no war."

"yes, my chile, that's so; but we're told to consider the lilies. gawd almighty tells us we must clothe ourselves in the garment of righteousness, and he—"

"you always 'pear to be mighty intimate with god a'mighty," interrupted eliza, in great wrath. "now you just go 'long home an' leave my mistis to her work. how would you look with nothin' on but a garment of righteousness?"

when i had stripped the pretty muslin gowns of their trimmings, what could be done with the gowns themselves? finally i resolved to embroider them 316 with the blue zephyr. i rolled the edges of the flounces, and edged them delicately with a spiral line of blue. i traced with blue a dainty vine of forget-me-nots on bodice and sleeves, with a result that was simply ravishing!

my first purchase was a barrel of flour, for which i paid thirteen hundred dollars. john made hot biscuits three times a day thereafter. as the winter wore on, and the starvation became stern in the army, a soldier would occasionally bring to the kitchen his ration of a small square of beef to be cooked, or eight grains of coffee to trade with john for a few biscuits. i sternly forbade the trade, and ordered john to grind the coffee in the owner's presence, mix it with our toasted corn, and give him the biscuits, with a good, strengthening drink. often a brown hand would place a tiny bundle on the piano, as the donor passed through the hall, and my heart would ache to find it contained a soldier's ration of coffee. my dear father had friends among his old parishioners who never allowed him to do without his coffee—a necessity for a man who never, under any circumstances, fortified his strength with ardent spirits. he was almost fanatical on the total abstinence subject.

of course i could not command shoes for my boys. i made them of carpet lined with flannel for my baby. i could in one day make a pair which she wore out in three! a piece of bronze morocco fell into my hands, of which i made a pair of boots for my little daughter, mary, and out of an old leather pocket-book and two or three leather bags which alick found in his prowling over the fields, a 317 soldier-shoemaker contrived shoes for each of the boys.

my own prime necessity was for the steel we women wear in front of our stays. i suffered so much for want of this accustomed support, that captain lindsay had a pair made for me by the government gunsmith.

the time came when the salable contents of the washington trunk were all gone. i then cut up my husband's dress-coat, and designed well-fitting ladies' gloves, with gauntlets made of the watered silk lining. of an interlining of gray flannel i made gray gloves, and this glove manufacture yielded me hundreds of dollars. thirteen small fragments of flannel were left after the gloves were finished. of these, pieced together, i made a pair of drawers for my willy—my youngest boy.

the lines around us were now so closely drawn that my father returned home after short absences of a day or two. but we were made anxious, during a heavy snow early in december, by a more prolonged absence. finally he appeared, on foot, hatless, and exhausted. he had been captured by a party of cavalrymen. he had told them of his non-combatant position, but when he asked for release, they shook their heads. at night they all prepared to bivouac upon the ground, assigned to him a sheltered spot, gave him a good supper and blankets, and left him to his repose. as the night wore on and all grew still, he raised his head cautiously to reconnoitre, and to his surprise found himself at some distance from the guard—but his 318 horse tied to a tree within the circle around the fire. my father took the hint, and quietly walked away unchallenged. "which proves, my dear," he said, "that a clergyman is not worth as much as a good horse in time of war."