Life in Dixie during the War, 1861-1862-1863-1864-1865

CHAPTER XI.
A PERILOUS TRUST

“It is most time to go to the post-office, ain’t it, Miss Mary? We are going to get a letter from Marse Thomie this morning.”

“What makes you so certain of it, Toby?”

“I don’t know’m, but I am; and every time I feels this way, I gets one; so I’ll just take my two little black calves and trot off to the office and get it;” and suiting the action to the word he struck a pretty brisk gait and was soon around the corner and out of sight.

Then Decatur received but two mails per day – one from an easterly direction and the other from a westerly direction. The northern, northwestern, southern and southwestern, all coming in on the morning’s Georgia Railroad train. Therefore ever since Thomie’s return to his command, the western mail was the one around which our hopes and fears daily clustered.

General Joseph E. Johnston’s army was, at the time of this incident, at Dalton, obstructing the advance of Sherman’s “three hundred thousand men” on destruction bent. And though there had been no regular line of battle formed for some time by the Confederate and Federal forces, there were frequent skirmishes, disastrous alike to both sides. Hence the daily alternation of hopes and fears in the hearts of those whose principal occupation was waiting and watching for “news from the front.”

The team of which Toby was the proud possessor did its work quickly, and in less time than it takes to tell it he appeared in sight, returning from the post-office – one hand clasping a package of papers and letters, and the other, raised high above his head, holding a letter. I could not wait, and ran to meet him.

“I’ve got a whole lot of letters, and every one of them is from Dalton, and this one is from Marse Thomie!”

Toby had read the Dalton post-mark, and had made a correct statement. The well-known chirography of my brother had become so familiar to him that he never mistook it for another, and was unerring in his declarations regarding it. On this occasion Thomie’s letter thus read:

“My Dear Sister: – Those acquainted with army tactics know that General Johnston is on the eve of an important move, or change of base; and that it should be the effort of the men, officers and privates, to be prepared to make the change, whatever it may be, with as little loss of army paraphernalia as possible. As the Confederate army has no repository secure from the approach of the enemy, several of our friends suggest that you might be willing to take care of anything which we might send to you, that would be of future use to us – heavy overcoats, extra blankets, etc., etc. Consider well the proposition before you consent. Should they be found in your possession, by the enemy, then our home might be demolished, and you perhaps imprisoned, or killed upon the spot. Are you willing to take the risk, trusting to your ingenuity and bravery to meet the consequences? Let me know as soon as possible, as war times admit of little delay. General Granbury, Colonel Bob Young, and others may make known to you their wishes by personal correspondence. Love to my mother and sister, and to yourself, brave heart.

Affectionately, your brother

T. J. Stokes.”

This letter was read aloud to my mother, and the faithful mail carrier was not excluded. She listened and weighed every word of its contents. For several moments a silence reigned, which was broken by her asking me what I was going to do in the matter.

“What would you have me do?” I asked in reply.

“What would they do, Mary, in very cold weather, if they should lose their winter clothing, overcoats and blankets, now that supplies are so difficult to obtain?”

This question, evasive as it was, convinced me that my mother’s patriotism was fully adequate to the occasion, and, fraught with peril as it might be, she was willing to bear her part of the consequences of taking care of the soldiers’ clothes.

The return mail bore the following letter addressed jointly to General Granbury, Colonel Robert Young, Captains Lauderdale and Formwalt, Lieutenant Stokes, and Major John Y. Rankin;

“My Dear Brother and Friends: – I thank you for the estimate you have placed upon my character and patriotism, as indicated by your request that I should take care of your overcoats, blankets, etc., until you need them. If I were willing to enjoy the fruits of your valor and sacrifices without also being willing to share your perils, I would be unworthy indeed. Yes, if I knew that for taking care of those things, I would subject myself to real danger, I would essay the duty. Send them on. I will meet them in Atlanta, and see that they continue their journey to Decatur without delay.

Your friend,

M. A. H. G.”

Another mail brought intelligence of the shipment of the goods, and I lost no time in going to Atlanta and having them re-shipped to Decatur. There were nine large dry goods boxes, and I went, immediately on their arrival, to Mr. E. Mason’s and engaged his two-horse wagon and driver to carry them from the depot to our home. When they were brought, we had them placed in our company dining-room. This room, by a sort of tacit understanding, had become a storeroom for the army before this important lot of goods came, and, as a dining-room, much incongruity of furniture existed, among which was a large, high wardrobe. The blinds were now closed and secured, the sash put down and fastened, the doors shut and locked, and this room given up to the occupancy of Confederate articles; and thus it remained during the eventful period intervening between the departure of General Joseph E. Johnston’s army from Dalton, and Sherman’s infamous order to the people of Atlanta and vicinity to leave their homes, that they might be destroyed by his vandal hordes.

CHAPTER XII.
A SCENE IN AN ATLANTA CONFEDERATE HOSPITAL

“Well, my boy, our patients are all getting along nicely in the Fair Ground hospital,” was the comforting assurance I gave to Toby, who was my faithful co-worker in all that pertained to the comfort of our soldiers. “Suppose we go to the Empire hospital and see what we can do there.”

“Yes’m, I have always wanted to go there.”

Taking one of the baskets we had brought with us from Decatur, and which contained biscuits, rusk, broiled and fried chicken, ground coffee and blackberry wine, I handed it to him and we wended our way to the hospital. Things were not in as good shape there as at the Fair Ground hospital. I perceived this at a glance, and, upon asking and receiving permission from the superintendent, I soon tidied up things considerably. Toby brought pails of fresh water, and aided in bathing the faces, hands and arms of the convalescing soldiers, while I hunted up the soldier lads who ought to have been at home with their mothers, and bestowed the tender loving service that woman only can give to the sick and suffering.

Entering one of the wards I perceived a youth, or one I took to be a youth, from his slender fragile figure, and his beardless face, lean and swarthy in sickness, but beautiful in its fine texture and the marblelike whiteness of the brow. That he was of French extraction there could be no doubt. Quietly kneeling by the side of his cot, I contemplated his face, his head, his figure – I listened to his breathing, and watched the pulsations of his heart, and knew that his days, yea, his hours were numbered. Taking his hand in mine, I perceived that the little vitality that remained was fast burning up with fever. Putting back the beautiful rings of raven hair that lay in disheveled clusters over his classic head, and partly concealed his white brow, I thought of his mother, and imprinted upon his forehead a kiss for her sake. The deep slumber induced by anodynes was broken by that touch, and a dazed awakening ensued. “Mother,” was his pathetic and only utterance.

“What can I do for you, my dear child?”

There are looks and tones which are never forgotten, and never shall I forget the utter despair in the eyes, lustrous and beautiful enough to look upon the glory of heaven, and the anguish of the voice, musical enough to sing the songs of everlasting bliss, as he said in tremulous tone and broken sentences:

“I want to see a Catholic priest. I have paid several men to go for me. They have gone off and never returned. I have no money with which to pay any one else.”

In silence I listened and wept. At length I said:

“My dear young friend, can you not make confession to ‘our Father which art in Heaven,’ and ask Him for Christ’s sake to absolve you from all sins of which you may think yourself guilty? He will do it without the intervention of a priest, if you will only believe on Him and trust Him. Can you not do this?”

The pencil of Raphael would fail to depict the anguish of his face; all hope left it, and, as he turned his despairing look upon the wall, tear drops glistened in his eyes and filled the sunken hollows beneath them. Again I took his passive hand in mine, and with the other hand upon his white forehead, I told him he should see a priest – that I myself would go for one, and just as soon as he could be found I would return with him. Before leaving, however, I went to the ward where I had left Toby and the basket, and filling a little glass with wine, I brought it to the sinking youth. He could not be induced to taste it. In vain I plead with him, and told him that it would strengthen him for the interview with the priest. “I am going now, and will come back, too, as soon as I can,” I said to the dying youth, for to all intents and purposes he was dying then. Seeing the other patients watching my every movement with pathetic interest, I was reminded to give the rejected wine to the weakest looking one of them.

Leaving Toby either to wait on, or amuse the soldiers of the ward first entered (where I found him playing the latter role, much to their delight), with hasty steps I went to the Catholic parsonage on Hunter street. In response to my ring the door was opened by an Irish woman from whom I learned that the priest was not in, and would not be until he came to luncheon at 12 o’clock M. It was then 11 o’clock, and I asked the privilege of waiting in the sitting room until he came. This being granted, I entered the room consecrated to celibacy, and perhaps to holy thoughts, judging from the pictures upon the walls and the other ornaments. These things furnished food for reflection, and the waiting would not have seemed so long but for the thought of the poor suffering one who had given his young life for our cause. Intuitively I knew the sound of clerical footsteps as they entered the hall, and hastening to meet him I asked, “Is this Father O’Riley?” Receiving an affirmative answer, I told him of the youth at the Empire hospital who refused to be comforted other than by a Catholic priest, and of my promise to bring one to him. Father O’Riley said he had been out since early morning, visiting the sick, and would be obliged to refresh himself, both by food and repose, but that I could say to the young man that he would be there by 3 o’clock. “O, sir, you don’t realize the importance of haste. Please let me remain in your sitting room until you have eaten your luncheon, and then I know you will go with me. I, too, have been out ever since early morning engaged in the same Christ-like labors as yourself, and I do not require either food or repose.”

My earnestness prevailed, and in a short while we were at our destination. At my request, Father O’Riley waited in the passage-way leading to the ward until I went in to prepare the young man for his coming. I found him in that restless condition, neither awake nor asleep, which often precedes the deep sleep that knows no waking. Wetting my handkerchief with cold water, I bathed his face and hands, and spoke gently to him, and, when he seemed sufficiently aroused to understand me, I told him in cheerful tones that he could not guess who had come to see him. Catching his look of inquiry, I told him it was Father O’Riley, and that I would bring him in. Opening the door, I motioned to Father O’Riley to follow me. The dying youth and the Catholic priest needed no introduction by me. There was a mystic tie between them that I recognized as sacred, and I left them alone. Telling Father O’Riley that I consigned my charge to him, and that I would come back to-morrow, I bade them good-bye and left.

The contents of the basket had been gratefully received and devoured by those who deserved the best in the land, because they were the land’s defenders.

To-morrow Toby and I, and the basket, were at the Empire hospital in due time, but the poor suffering youth was not there. The emancipated spirit had taken its flight to Heaven, and all that was mortal of that brave young soldier had been consigned by the ceremonies of the church he loved so well to the protecting care of mother earth.

CHAPTER XIII

Concealing Confederate Clothing – Valuables Carried to Atlanta – Toby Taken Ill

On the way to the post-office early one morning in the sultry month of July, 1864, to mail a number of letters which I deemed too important to be entrusted to other hands, I was accosted as follows by “Uncle Mack,” the good negro blacksmith, whose shop was situated immediately upon the route:

“Did you know, Miss Mary, that the Yankees have crossed the river, and are now this side of the Chattahoochee.”

“Why, no!” I said, and added with as much calmness as I could affect, “I do not know why I should be surprised – there is nothing to prevent them from coming into Decatur.”

With an imprecation more expressive than elegant, that evil should overtake them before getting here, he resumed hammering at the anvil, and I my walk to the post-office. Nor was Uncle Mack the only one who volunteered the information that “The Yankees are coming – they are this side the river.”

The time had come to devise means and methods of concealing the winter clothing and other accoutrements entrusted to my care by our dear soldiers. In order to save them, what should I do with them? – was a question which I found myself unable to answer. An attempt to retain and defend them would be futile indeed. And I have no right to jeopardize my mother’s home by a rash effort to accomplish an impossibility. But what shall I do with these precious things, is the question. A happy thought struck me, and I pursued it only to find it delusive. The near approach of Sherman’s army developed the astounding fact that Dr. A. Holmes, of Decatur, a Baptist minister of some prominence, claimed to be a Union man, in full sympathy with any means that would soonest quell the rebellion. This I had not heard, and in my dilemma I went to him to impart my plans and ask advice. He was morose and reticent, and I hesitated; but, driven by desperation, I finally said: “Dr. Holmes, as a minister of the gospel, are you not safe? All civilized nations respect clerical robes, do they not?”

“I think so,” he said, and continued by saying, “I have other claims upon the Federal army which will secure me from molestation.”

A look of surprise and inquiry being my only answer, he said, “Amid the secession craze, I have never given up my allegiance to the United States.”

“Why, Dr. Holmes!” I said, in unfeigned surprise.

“I repeat most emphatically that I have remained unshaken in my allegiance to the United States. I have no respect for a little contemptible Southern Confederacy, whose flag will never be recognized on land or on sea.”

This was a sad revelation to me. On more than one occasion I had heard Dr. Holmes pray fervently for the success of the Southern cause, and to hear such changed utterances from him now, pained me exceedingly. Heartsore and discouraged, I turned from him, and was leaving without the usual ceremony, when he said:

“What can I do for you?”

“I came, sir, to ask a great favor of you, but after hearing you express yourself as you have, I deem it useless to make known my wishes. Good morning.”

This interview with Dr. Holmes was very brief; it did not consume as much time as it has done to tell it.

I did not walk in those days, but ran, and it required only a few moments to transfer the scene of action from Dr. Holmes’ to my mother’s residence. A hurried, whispered conversation acquainted her with the situation; and at my request, and upon a plausible pretense, she took Toby to the depot where she remained until I sent for her. My confidence in Toby had not in the least diminished, but, being a boy, I feared that he might have his price, or be intimidated by threats into the betrayal of our secret; hence the management as above related to get him off the place while I consummated a plan, which, if successful, would be a great achievement, but, if a failure, would be fraught with disaster. In those days “the depot” was a place of popular resort – it was the emporium of news; and either from the agent, or from the Confederate scouts that were ever and anon dashing through Decatur with cheerful messages and words of hope, the anxious mothers and sisters of the soldiers often wended their way there in hope of hearing something from their loved ones. Therefore no suspicion was aroused by this going to the depot.

Watching the receding form of my mother until she had passed out of the gate, and Toby had closed it after her, I then went to the rear door and motioned to Telitha, who chanced to be in the right place, to come into the house. After seeing that every outside door was thoroughly secure, I took her into the dining room where the boxes were which contained the winter clothing, blankets, etc., already mentioned as having been sent for storage by our soldier friends at Dalton, and told her in pantomime that the Yankees were coming, and if they saw these thing’s they would kill us and burn the house. She fully understood and repeated the pantomime illustrative of possible – yea, probable – coming events, with pathetic effect. I showed her that I wanted a hammer and chisel with which to take off the lids of the boxes, and she brought them. The lids removed, each article was carefully lifted from its repository and placed on chairs. This important step being taken towards the concealment of the goods, I raised the sash and opened the shutters of the window nearest the cellar, which was unlocked and open, and Telitha, climbing out the window, received the boxes as I handed them to her, and carried them into the cellar. Old and soiled as the boxes were, they were not in a condition to create suspicion of recent use, so from that source we had nothing to fear. Telitha again in the house, shutters closed, and sash down, preparation was resumed for the enactment of a feat dangerous and rash, the thought of which, even at this remote period, almost produces a tremor. The wardrobe mentioned in a former sketch as an incongruity in a dining room, was emptied of its contents, and inch by inch placed as near the center of the room as possible; then a large table was placed beside it, and a chair upon that; and then with the help of another chair, which served as a step, I got upon the table and then upon the chair that was upon the table. As I went up, Telitha followed; standing upon the table she grasped the wardrobe with her strong hands and held it securely. I ascended from the chair to the top of it, stood up and steadied myself, and waited, immovable as a statue, until she got down and brought the chisel and hammer and placed them at my feet, and resumed her hold upon the wardrobe. I stooped and picked up the utensils with which I had to work, and straightened and steadied myself again. The chisel touched the plastered ceiling and the hammering began. Very slow work it was at first, as the licks had to be upward instead of downward, and the plastering was very thick. Finally the chisel went through and was withdrawn and moved to another place, and by repeated efforts I secured an aperture large enough to insert my fingers, and a few well-directed licks round and about so cracked and weakened the plastering that I was enabled to pull off some large pieces. A new difficulty presented itself. The laths were long, much longer than those of the present day, and I not only had to make a large opening in the ceiling, but to take off the plastering without breaking the laths. More than once the wardrobe had to be moved that I might pull off the plastering, and then with the greatest care prize off the laths. At length the feat was accomplished, and I laid the lids of the boxes, which had been reserved for this purpose, across the joists, and made a floor upon which to lay the goods more than once specified in these sketches. When the last article had been laid on this improvised shelf, I gazed upon them in silent anguish and wept. Telitha caught the melancholy inspiration and also wept. Each lath was restored to its place and the perilous work was completed, and how I thanked the Lord for the steady nerve and level head that enabled me to do this service for those who were fighting the battles of my country.

But the debris must be removed. While the doors were yet closed and fastened, we pounded and broke the plastering into very small pieces and filled every vessel and basket in the house. I then went out and walked very leisurely over the yard and lot, and lingered over every lowly flower that sweetened the atmosphere by its fragrance, and when I was fully persuaded that no spy was lurking nigh I re-entered the house and locked the door. Picking up the largest vessel, and motioning Telitha to follow suit, I led the way through a back door to a huge old ash hopper, and emptied the pulverized plastering into it. In this way we soon had every trace of it removed from the floor. The dust that had settled upon everything was not so easily removed, but the frequent use of dusting brushes and flannel cloths disposed of the most of it.

I now wrote a note to my mother, inviting her to come home, and to bring Toby with her. We kept the doors of the dining room closed, as had been our wont for some time, and if Toby ever discovered the change, he never betrayed the knowledge of it by word or look. After a light breakfast, and the excitement of the day, I felt that we ought to have a good, luscious dinner, and, with the help at my command, went to work preparing it, and, as was my custom of late, I did not forget to provide for others who might come in. More than once during the day Confederate scouts had galloped in and spoken a few words of encouragement; and after taking a drink of water from the old oaken bucket, had galloped out again, so I hoped they would come back when the biscuit and tea-cakes were done, that I might fill their pockets.

After the last meal of the day had been eaten, I held another whispered consultation with my mother, and in pursuance of the course agreed upon I emptied several trunks, and with her help filled one with quilts and blankets, and other bedding; another with china and cut glass, well packed; and another with important papers, treasured relics, etc., and locked and strapped them ready for shipment next morning.

A night of unbroken rest and sleep prepared me for another day of surprises and toil, and before dawn I was up, dressed, waiting for daylight enough to justify me in the effort to see Mr. Ezekiel Mason, and beg him to hire me his team and driver to carry the trunks to the depot. After my ready compliance with his terms, he agreed to send them as soon as possible. The delay caused me to go on a freight train to Atlanta, but I congratulated myself upon that privilege, as the trunks and Toby went on the same train. There was unusual commotion and activity about the depot in Atlanta, and a superficial observer would have been impressed with the business-like appearance of the little city at that important locality. Men, women, and children moved about as if they meant business. Trains came in rapidly, and received their complement of freight, either animate or inanimate, and screamed themselves hoarse and departed, giving place to others that went through with the same routine. Drays and every manner of vehicles blocked the streets, and endangered life, limb, and property of all who could not vie with them in push, vim, and dare-deviltry. In vain did I appeal to scores of draymen, white and black, to carry my trunks to the home of Mr. McArthur, on Pryor street – money was offered with liberality, but to no avail. Despairing of aid, I bade Toby follow me, and went to Mr. McArthur’s. He and his good wife were willing to receive the trunks and give them storage room, but could extend no aid in bringing them there. At length, as a last resort, it was decided that Toby should take their wheelbarrow and bring one trunk at a time. I returned with him to the depot and had the most valuable trunk placed upon the wheelbarrow, and, with my occasional aid, Toby got it to its destination. A second trip was made in like manner, and the third was not a failure, although I saw that Toby was very tired. Thanking my good friends for the favor they were extending, I hurried back to the depot, myself and Toby, to take the first train to Decatur. Imagine our consternation on learning that the Yankees had dashed in and torn up the Georgia Railroad track from Atlanta to Decatur, and were pursuing their destructive work towards Augusta. Neither for love nor money could a seat in any kind of vehicle going in that direction be obtained, nor were I and my attendant the only ones thus cut off from home; and I soon discovered that a spirit of independence pervaded the crowd. Many were the proud possessors of elegant spans of “little white ponies” which they did not deem too good to propel them homeward. Seeking to infuse a little more life and animation into Toby, I said:

“Well, my boy, what do you think of bringing out your little black ponies and running a race with my white ones to Decatur? Do you think you can beat in the race?”

“I don’t know’m,” he said, without his usual smile, when I essayed a little fun with him, and I evidently heard him sigh. But knowing there was no alternative, I started in a brisk walk towards Decatur, and said to him, “Come on, or I’ll get home before you do.” He rallied and kept very close to me, and we made pretty good time. The gloaming was upon us, the period of all others auspicious to thought, and to thought I abandoned myself. The strife between the sections of a once glorious country was a prolific theme, and I dwelt upon it in all of its ramifications, and failed to find cause for blame in my peculiar people; and my step became prouder, and my willingness to endure all things for their sakes and mine was more confirmed. In the midst of these inspiring reflections, Toby, who had somewhat lagged behind, came running up to me and said:

“Oh! Miss Mary, just look at the soldiers. And they are ours, too!”

To my dying day I shall never forget the scene to which he called my attention. In the weird stillness it appeared as if the Lord had raised up of the stones a mighty host to fight our battles. Not a sound was heard, nor a word spoken, as those in the van passed opposite me, on and on, and on, in the direction of Decatur, in what seemed to me an interminable line of soldiery. Toby and I kept the track of the destroyed railroad, and were somewhere between General Gartrell’s residence and Mr. Pitts’, the midway station between Atlanta and Decatur, when the first of these soldiers passed us, and we were at Kirkwood when that spectre-like band had fully gone. Once the moon revealed me so plainly that a cheer, somewhat repressed, but nevertheless hearty, resounded through the woods, and I asked:

“Whose command?”

“Wheeler’s Cavalry,” was the simultaneous response of many who heard my inquiry.

“Don’t you know me? I am the one you gave the best breakfast I ever ate, that morning we dashed into Decatur before sun-up.”

“And I’m the one too.”

“O, don’t mention it,” I said. “You are giving your lives for me, and the little I can do for you is nothing in comparison. May God be with you and shield you from harm until this cruel war is over.”

I missed Toby, and looking back, saw him sitting down. I hurried to him, saying, “What is it, my boy?”

“O, Miss Mary, I am so sick. I can’t go any further. You can go on home, and let me stay here – when I feel better I’ll go too.”

“No, my boy, I’ll not leave you.” And sitting by him I told him to rest his head upon my lap, and maybe after awhile he would feel better, and then we would go on. In the course of a half hour he vomited copiously, and soon after he told me he felt better, and would try to go on. More than once his steps were unsteady and he looked dazed; but under my patient guidance and encouraging words he kept up and we pursued our lonely walk until we reached Decatur.

As soon as we entered the town, we perceived that we had overtaken Wheeler’s Cavalry. They were lying on the ground, asleep, all over the place; and in most instances their horses were lying by them, sleeping too. And I noticed that the soldiers, even though asleep, never released their hold upon the bridles. At home I found my mother almost frantic. She knew nothing of the causes detaining me, and supposed that some disaster had befallen me individually. A good supper, including a strong cup of tea prepared by her hands, awaited us, and I attested my appreciation of it by eating heartily. Toby drank a cup of tea only, and said he “was very tired and hurt all over.”