A Recollection Of Thirty Years Ago
Annie Laura Broidrick, 1893 Avenel
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Time flies quickly, and we, who were little pals, saddened children during the War, have become men and women of middle life.
Some are tottering on to old age, made more feeble by the hardships and exposure suffered during those four years of strife, when brother fought brother (and gloried in it,) with a fierce vindictive hate that, as the years roll by, can hardly be realized and understood.
Now after thirty years, there are many who yet think, that but for a few hot-headed men on both sides, peace might have been maintained, and the loss to the Southern people (who were so rich and prosperous) lessened. But that question is far wiser heads than mine to solve, and it would take too much time to attempt to explain an old story of petty feeling between North and South, the origin of which dated back long before the War.
My intention now is to tell honestly the manner of life in the South and what occurred while husband, father, and brother, were away in the trenches, fighting, as was their conviction, for home and liberty.
The Southern man was chivalrous, gay, and pleasure-loving; a man of charming manner, with almost an exaggerated sense of courtesy, especially for women.
The weaker sex always appealed to his manhood, and any trifling service in her honor was performed with the greatest willingness.
He travelled, spent money freely, but did no manual labor; that was for his slaves.
The old home in Vicksburg, very much like the colonial type of to-day, comes before me as in a dream.
It was large and spacious, a wide hall running its entire length, with rooms on either side; the front with its large fluted pillars, giving it a dignity and appearance of aristocracy that quite belonged to the times.
Sixty acres of land with beautifully cultivated gardens and hot-houses surrounded it, every new idea could be indulged in, and every desire gratified.
Fifteen to twenty servants were employed about the premises, for whom comfortable "quarters" had been built in the rear of the "big house."
Our plantation was one hundred miles above Vicksburg, and negroes were sent down to us as needed, or, if ill, to be cared for, when the young doctor employed for them failed to find the cause of the trouble malady.
The slaves were of two classes; the bright darky who was trained for house service, and the "corn-field nigger," the latter being usually the black, shiny darky, who could sleep all day long with face upturned to the hot, broiling sun, and whose skull was so thick that he often used it as a battering-ram, when belligerent.
They were usually faithful and true.
The mulatto was more superficially intelligent and refined, but more cunning and deceitful.
The life on the plantation was a happy, careless one.
Even during the busy season there was plenty of time for frolic.
The climate of the South is enervating; the soft, balm air produces a lassitude that is delicious; no hurry, no rush, everything in its own good tie, now or to-morrow.
The negro felt it as we all did, and was born indolent.
The slaves were named for members of the family that owned them. There would be a "Big Sam" and his son "Little Sam" and another, not of the same family, called to prevent confusion, "Black Sam."
One having a peculiar cast of features would be called "Possum-eyed Jim," another "Rat Henry," from the quick, sharp expression of the black beady eye.
All the old people were called "Uncle" or "Aunty."
An overseer managed everything, and, although much has been said and written of his cruelty, never once did it come to my knowledge.
I have known slaves to be whipped, but it was always for a grave offense, such as wife-beating, stealing, etc; but even then the punishment was not brutal.
The work was done by both men and women.
Cotton was planted and when ready picked; as the luxuriant bloom filled the bowl of the plant, it was easy to pluck.
It was then carried to the "gin-house," and ginned in a primitive manner with horse-power.
Some was carded by the women and spun and made into hands for home use.
The rest was baled and sent away for sale.
My father never bought negroes or "flesh" as it has been called, unless requested to do so by his own servants who sometimes fell in love with, and wished to marry other planter’s slaves.
Then "marster" was begged to buy the desired one so that they should not be separated. Almost all our slaves were inherited property, having been in the family for years.
On my return home from a fashionable Northern school, one of my first greetings was from a slim, old darky, who, with uplifted hands, exclaimed: "Lawdy! how yer’s grown, Miss L----. An t think I waited on yo’r Pa when he was married, even tied his wedding cravat for him and now YER’S JUST READY TO STEP ABOUT."
A lady’s maid among people of means was sent to New Orleans to learn hair-dressing, embroidery, and in fact everything that would perfect her in being of use to the mistress. And the more talented and efficient she was, the higher her price, and the more valuable she became.
She was the slave by love and law of the fair one who owned her.
Many a romantic tale was confided by mistress and maid to each other during the hours that the hair was brushed and the soft wrapper donned.
The dining-room servants or butlers were usually mulattoes, who were great dandies, having all the graces and mannerisms of their masters. Though times have changed, I can still look back and not regard them as ludicrous or grotesque. The imitation was of courtly gentlemen, whose courtesy and chivalry are fast becoming a thing of the past.
We children always resented being driven from the dining-room door when the big dinners were being prepared and the marvels of confection placed upon the table. The servant in charge gave his orders in a lordly manner to his subordinates, making them fly to do his bidding; and what gracious manners he had, receiving and assisting the guests to their places!
Consequential, important, and next in authority to the owners, were the old "black mammies," who raised and superintended the care of the children.
As they grew old they were exempt from hard work, and ruled white and black with imperial severity.
Our old "mammy Harriet," raised two or three generations of children.
We had the greatest love for her, but it was tempered with fear, for she never overlooked a fault and was ready to tell "old miss" how de chillun was carrying on."
She never allowed us to go into the kitchen. That was considered extremely low-taste; and she would say with an emphatic shake of the old, turbaned head, "Nobody but niggers so in thar. Sit in de parlor wid'er book in yo'r hand like little white ladies." Once "mammy" was in disgrace, when she slapped my mother, after her marriage.
My father said he used some pretty strong language to the old lady, and she never repeated the offence.
In our day it was "Spare the rod and spoil the child," and after a punishment it was "mammy" who always wiped the streaming eyes, and gave comfort with many an endearing pat and word, muttering to herself all the while, "but, honey, why does yer make yo'r ma so mad, acting like sich po'r white trash?"
Clothing for the plantation folk was made three or four times during the year, "mammy" superintending the sewing-woman, and with grandmama, the packing and shipping of the boxes.
Numbers of little "darkies" were always around, and the children often begged the privilege of having them in the house to show off an accomplishment, such as a dance, or a tune on the jews-harp, or banjo. I have seen dusky feet flying over the velvet carpet in the large drawing-room, and heard the hearty applause given by master and mistress as some difficult step was performed with ease and grace.
Then "mammy" would come in, "hustle" them all out, grumbling, that she "would like to know what white folks meant having all those niggers about "sturbing things."
Christmas morning! O! what a day of rejoicing! My earliest recollection is of a room dim with the shadows of early day, and of dusky forms flitting about with turbaned heads and melodious voices, saying "Christmas gift marster! Christmas gift misses!;" each received a gift with an old-time, bobbing courtesy, and withdrew to make room for others.
Mistress, supported by the large pillows in the high, old-fashioned, four-posted bed, directed the distribution of gifts. Later, punch was made in wash-tubs, and healths and good wishes drank. Morning and evening, the famous egg-nog was passed around.
Logs were filled with powder and blown up, fire-works were set off, and the sounds of dancing, and singing to the music of the banjo, bore happiness to the kind hearts whose greatest pleasure was to make others happy.
The negroes were generally Methodists, the shouting, exhorting, and public prayer of that sect, suiting their emotional nature.
They were fond of going to the "mourner’s bench" to be prayed over, and were constantly begging each other to "’sperience religion and belong to de Lord."
During their protracted meetings, after becoming pious, they would work themselves almost into a frenzy, and begin their shouting by walking up to each other, taking and shaking the hand with the words, "I hope to meet you in heaven." Then as they grew more fervent, they would throw their arms high in the air, clapping the hands, and uttering loud ejaculations, such as "Lord Jesus," the rest answering with a long drawn out "Amen."
Frequently a wicked sister would kneel and tell how she had been brought to religion, going over in detail all the various acts of wickedness, until her soul was "washed clean." Then she would spring high in the air, singing, clapping her hands, and praying aloud. Others would soon follow her example, until all would be shouting; and so it would continue for hours, until some would fall insensible to the floor and lay in a state resembling coma. In that condition they were supposed to see visions and hear the word of "de Lord."
To my childish, impressionable mind, the scene was like Hades,--the pine-knot fires throwing a lurid glare over the howling, jumping forms, their clothing and hair disarranged, perspiration streaming from their faces, the eyes, staring and shining with unnatural excitement; and what a a strange impulse it aroused in me, not to run away, but to join in with the frenzied devotees!
It was a whirlpool of religious mania.
The supernatural and mysterious always filled the negroes with dread.
The comet that was seen just at the beginning of the War was viewed by them with fear, and once during a total eclipse of the sun they huddled about my mother like children. She tried to explain the cause to them, but nothing could make them believe that the "Judgement day" was not at hand; and during the them of darkness, weeping was heard on every side, and many a culprit confessed a hidden crime , and was penitent, until the sun regained its brilliancy.
A negro belonging to us always kept a white pebble in his mouth, to protect him from evil. It was never taken out, even for a moment, and no amount of reasoning could convince him of the folly of carrying it. Once he was accused of "conjuring" another servant, who, to prove it, brought a bag to my mother to have examined, which was found to contain a few chicken feathers rolled into a hard knot, and a tiny strip of flannel with something spread upon it like oil. In another family the cook tried to conjure the entire household, by putting in the coffee-pot the baby’s slipper after rubbing it upon her person, and muttering strange words. Fortunately it was discovered before the coffee was drank taken.
It was believed a pig killed on the wane of the moon had always a bad effect on the meat, causing it to shrink when cooked to half its size.
Portions of the entrails of animals were kept for different diseases.
A chicken split in halves, and laid on a cancer, was supposed to absorb the poison and make a complete cure.
Love potions were made, some to induce love, others to ward it off.
A rattle-snake’s rattle was worn in the hair to cure headache. It was believed that a snake, killed during the day, never died until sundown.
If a corpse was flexible for some time after death, it was a sure sign that in a short time another of the same family would soon be taken, and the moaning would be doubled, for the dead and doomed.
The first mutterings of war were like the low, rumbling thunder that one hears on a quiet summer’s day, when there is hardly a cloud to be seen in the sky.
The grown people used to sit and talk of the different rumors, but not a doubt was felt that everything would be arranged to keep the Union together in a peaceful manner.
The cloud of discord grew blacker and blacker, and finally burst at the hot-headed, impulsive fight of Fort Sumter. Then it seemed as though the vengeance of heaven was upon us.
Prayers for our country were offered daily in the churches; and now, knowing the Northern man, it is hard to believe that he was the Yankee we were then so much in dread of.
From constant talking, we conceived him to be a kind of demon, and the words "the Yankees are coming," were quite enough to send us trembling to our mother, who with tears in her eyes would say "Pray God it may not be so."
My father taught my mother the use of the pistol, and hurried off to Richmond, leaving us in the care of a young uncle, but soon he, too, became filled with the enthusiasm of war, and signed for the front; it was not long before he began to form a company of his own.
They used to drill every day, but were not able to buy guns. At last they were procured, and uniforms were furnished. A banner was made by the ladies, and presented to the company by one of the belles. It was taken to the church, and after being consecrated by the bishop, unfurled, and away they marched to the field of battle, leaving moaning women and children to pray for their safe return. Alas! how few over came back! In one short year no one would have recognized the ragged, dirty, sunburnt, half-starved soldiers, as the same men who had left home with so much pride and glory to the music of "Dixey," and "The Bonnie Blue Flag."
News came at intervals, from the absent, telling of their hardships and sufferings.
We were all set to work picking lint from table-linen for the wounded, and knitting socks. Even we children had our share of work with the older people.
The victories of our soldiers were discussed and praised, although after a battle it was weeks before an accurate account reached us.
Often it was brought by a poor wounded soldier, sent home on furlough to be nursed.
Everyone turned out to see and worship him as a hero, and sad tidings he brought some; for perhaps the same bullet that had spared him had crushed out the life of a comrade by his side so suddenly, that none but God ever heard the last words meant for home and mother.
The slaves who were brought down from the plantation were crowded together near us; the cotton was burned to prevent its falling into the hands of the enemy.
Food was scarce, for we had to feed ourselves, and also the negroes.
Wounded soldiers came in large numbers, and each household received as many as could be accommodated, the ladies sleeping on mattresses in order that the sick might be comfortable.
On our lawn were encamped some of the men who were ready to defend Vicksburg. Many of these disliked tent-life, and would insist on sleeping on our front gallery; as a result it was not safe to go out of doors after night-fall, for fear of stepping on an arm or leg of some poor fellow, who, with only his blanket wrapped around him, would lie under our bright-curtained windows listening to the sound of the voices within, sounds that brought to mind the dear ones of home.
We had not the heart to drive them away, though we found it anything but agreeable to be in the midst of so many men.
News cam frequently from New Orleans of the approach of the enemy, and never shall I forget the day when the Northern soldier took possession.
People walked the streets aimlessly, as one does when troubled, with bowed heads and saddened mien. It was like the slaying of the first-born child of Egypt. Sorrow was in every house.
What the city suffered from the ravages of war, we learned from letters, secretly slipped through lines, of the brave women who, defying jailors and soldiers, contrived ways and means to make the rebel prisoners' life more durable, by bringing them food, books, etc.; perhaps receiving from them as a gift of gratitude one of those innumerable gutta percha rings which the men spent so much time in making.
When Butler issued the proclamation against the Southern women, our indignation know no bounds.
The Northern soldier was hated and insulted before, but after that decree, which gave him the title of "beast," the feeling was intensified.
A lady friend had a son ill in New Orleans, at the time when it was captured. He was caught, imprisoned as a spy, and sentenced to be shot.
The poor mother used all her influence trying to save her boy, even going to General Butler and throwing herself on her knees before him, begged for mercy for him. Exhausted and frenzied by grief, she began aloud: "Our Father who art in heaven," and when half way through the "Lord’s Prayer," Butler said, "Amen! Amen!!Amen!!! take the woman out;" the next day the sentence was executed, and the dream of military glory was ended for the lad of eighteen.
Fashion held her sway even in war-time.
The ladies arranged their tresses in the style called the "water fall." Nets and crinolines were in vogue. All dresses were of linen or calico.
The finer clothing (for many had worn imported gowns before hard times) was laid away for happier days.
Hats were made of palametto and oat-grass plaited by the wearers, and with their trimmings of flowers, were light and pretty.
As the War progressed, the cotton was woven by the ladies and servants, and dresses were made of home-spun.
Flour we never saw, and instead of coffee sweet potatoes were cut up into small pieces, dried, and used.
My mother so far with only God’s help had taken care not only of us, but of sick friends, wounded soldiers and servants, and as food became hard to produce she was obliged to "forage" for it. With the old coachmen as her guide and protector, she would drive miles through the country, hunting and buying up the different necessary articles. A bag of salt she paid forty-five dollars for and delighted to buy it at any price.
Turkeys were fifty dollars apiece, and a round comb such as children then wore was the same price.
We lived on bacon and corn-meal, and a salted mackerel was considered a delicacy.
Among the soldiers were many elegant, refined gentlemen, and the young girls enjoyed gay times. Suppers, dances, and card parties, were given frequently; and often in the midst of fun and frolic, the roll of the drum would be heard, and the gallant knights would vanish to the call of duty.
Flirtation and love-making were everywhere. Rings were exchanged, and promises given to be fulfilled in peaceful times. It was not difficult to be a belle, with so many admirers of the opposite sex idle, waiting for active service.
As the enemy came nearer and nearer, we were like rats shut in a hole. Food became scarcer and harder to procure.
I remember once, for a childish offence, my mother caught my arm to administer corporal punishment. As she felt its thinness she burst into tears, and cried out, "O! I cannot, my poor little half-starved children, it is not naughtiness, it is hunger."
Troubles, truly, never come alone, and, in the midst of want, wounded soldiers, and discomfort, the measles broke out, first among the children, then among the negroes. I remember when the sick numbered thirteen in one day. The only medicine used consisted of big doses of "corn-whiskey" which was frightful in strength and effect.
Our carriage and fine horses were now the only reminders left us of former style and grandeur.
To be rich during the War, was considered a disgrace.
Almost every person of note was suffering from poverty, and people were proud of it. Every one gave freely to the cause.
A woman I knew of did try to keep an eating-house, but became disgusted and gave it up.
The soldiers would run in, snatch up everything eatable, with not much show of manners, even "grabbing" from each other various articles of food.
I heard once the description of a fight for a tough biscuit, and how in the struggle between the two men for its possession it was elastic enough to actually stretch across the table.
The roar of the cannon and the noise of the musketry, resembling the sound of a vast cane-break on fire with its crackling noise and rumbling under-tone, was now plainly heard. The windows and mirrors in the house, although the fighting was many miles away, were broken and shattered.
Shells were plainly seen at night, with their tiny flames of light shooting through the air, making that peculiar noise that the old darkies used to say meant, "Whar is you? Whar is you?" and when they exploded, "Dar you is."
Some suffered from deafness, as the constant sound of the big guns affected the drum of the ear and made it sensitive.
Through all the manifestations of the war, the friendly relationship of the negro never altered. They would echo the same sentiments as the whites against the invaders, and still showed in action and expression the old devotion that had existed in the happy, prosperous times. All united in telling my mother, over and over again, that they would never leave her if the Yankees came, and it was through the thoughtfulness of an old negro, whose faithfulness in every was I can never forget, that I still have in my possession and use the family silver; he buried it secretly at midnight in a room that had a ground floor, and was used as a store- room.
It was divided, placed in boxes, and put under ground in different places.
The earth was patted down and made to appear natural and hard. Old sacks were thrown over it, and it lay there three years unsuspected, the soldiers walking over it hundreds of times.
The concealment of some money was not so lucky; that was placed in the back of an old picture and hung on the wall, and during one of the first raids it was taken, while a gold watch and silver goblet lying on the bureau, were left unmolested.
The shells, as the gun-boats drew nearer, were better aimed, too well, in fact, for the safety of life and property.
Trees, old patriarchs that had withstood the tempests of centuries, bowed now beneath the rain of iron and steel, and were literally mowed to the ground.
The spires of churches, cupolas of houses, toppled down like playthings of cards, and no surprise was felt at seeing often one end of the house torn away, or the roof twisted and bent, with an immense fissure running through it, that let in visions of the blue sky veiled in a mist of smoke.
Not always did the shell explode; it sometimes destroyed all in its pathway and burrowed down deep into the earth, to rest until after the War, when an unsuspecting planter in ploughing up the earth, would touch it, and off it would go, causing death and destruction once again.
As a refuge, caves were dug in the hillsides. Those who could afford it had them large and comfortable with a hall, and often three or four rooms well furnished; and when the bombardment began, they would in great haste seek safety in them.
Sometimes the shells exploded and blocked up the entrance, and the people had to be dug out; after that experience, two outlets were made.
Days and nights were spent underground in the caves, and the ordinary work of home life, with the aid of "tallow-dips," was carried on as coolly and calmly as though the abode was one of choice.
Everywhere women and children were flying before the enemy with what possessions they could carry, refugees from ruined homes, seeking safety in flight, far away from the horrors of war. My father, through the kindness of a friend, had bought a house in Alabama, and wrote telling my mother, on her first opportunity to leave Vicksburg, as it was now a battle-field, every home being a hospital, and each woman a nurse trying to alleviate the sufferings of soldiers.
The fish in the river grew fat feasting on the bodies of the unfortunate that were killed or drowned, and it was many years before I could summon up courage to taste one, knowing in many instances, when a body was recovered, how mutilated it had been by the finny tribe during the seige.
The servants, expecting those who were in constant attendance upon us, had been taken overland some time previously.
At last one night we were awakened from sleep, dressed hurriedly, and placed beside our mother in the carriage, with necessary robes and clothing for a journey. Everything in the house was left in its accustomed place, the only thought being to get away from the doomed city. We travelled all night rapidly, and the cold frosty heaven, with its myriads of stars, seemed to look down and twinkle upon us with little pity.
We stopped at friendly houses along the way for food and shelter, and were kindly welcomed and housed. Sometimes they were filled with other refugees, and we were obliged to sleep on pallets on the floor, in front of big fire-places, filled with bright, glowing logs.
The grown people exchanged the latest news of the enemy, and talked over the hard times; then in the morning, after sharing the breakfast, we would start on again.
We saw hundreds of our men sleeping on beds of leaves or straw covered with ragged blankets.
Among them were many familiar faces, but how changed, pale, and wasted, from want of food! Some were destitute not only of me even now.
We travelled on, trying to deep out of the way of the enemy;but it was little avail, as they literally covered the land. As we drove along, thankful at our success so far, we saw soldiers in the distance, riding fast in our direction, with banners flying and swords gleaming in the bright sun-light.
My mother sprang forward and clutched the old driver's coattails with both hands, and cried out, "What men are those, Uncle Amos?" He said: "I don't know, Missus, but they must be mars Yank. Now, don’t you be feared, I’ll protect you and the chillun. Sit down, and make out you’r brave. Don’t let ‘em see you’r scared." My mother sank back on the seat and drew us nearer to her, and tried to calm our fears, for her excitement had been plainly observed by us, and we were trembling in every limb. As she comforted us she became calm, but her little mouth grew hard and stern, and woe betide the Yankee if she had been a man just then.
Dashing up to the carriage, they halted, and one of the officers turned to Uncle Amos and said: "Who do you belong to?, and where are you going?" "We belong to Judge H----, and is going to Alabama," he answered. "Where is your master?" "In Richmond," my mother answered with a proud look. "Ah, madam, (with a low bow)is that so? I will have to trouble you to get out of the carriage, as we have orders to search for arms." "We have none," was the reply, "only food and clothing packed away." "Sorry madam, must obey orders. Get off that box," to the driver, "and help us, or we will cut your black head off , or put you in the army." "Brave men!" said my mother with scorn, "to frighten a faithful servant doing his duty. We have heard that you used the negro as a barricade- from our men's bullets," and out she sprang to the ground, we following quickly after.
Everything was searched, and each package and bundle opened, poor uncle Amos assisting, though half dead from fright.
After going through everything, and finding little of value, our horses were unharnessed by the soldiers, and led away. Then we threw pride to the winds and begged for them, but it was of no avail, "they were needed for the army," and as a last souvenir of their visit, their swords cut and tore the leather covering of the carriage into a hundred strips, which flying in the wind, gave it the look of a festive be-ribboned may-pole.
As they rode away with clattering arms, I heard the shrill, childish voice of my little sister shouting after them: "Don't forget, one of those horses is named Jeff Davis, and the other, is Robert E. Lee."
We were in a pitiful plight, many miles away from Jackson on a country road-way, with a dilapidated carriage, without horses. We stood by the road, crying bitterly, and wondering what next to do. Fortunately, we had our Confederate money safely hid. Uncle Amos kept it in his possession, as few would ever think of a poor negro as a banker. We procured two mules and put them in the place of our fine horses, and started on once more, forming a ludicrous, yet sad picture,-- the tattered carriage, with its flying streamers, the mules, the dark green livery faded almost white, and the pale, frightened inmates.
We reached Jackson, tired and heart-sick, but there we found only confusion. Bridges had been burned, and the first sight which greeted us was a large fire, the burning of the principal hotel.
I suppose there were no such things as fire escapes, for the Inmates jumped from the upper stories into blankets held out- stretched by those below.
We waited in Jackson a few days, then took the train for Eufaula. It was a pleasant trip, though the cars seemed to creep along; the sound of the guns faded gradually away, as hour after hour saw us speeding on to a more peaceful land.
On reaching Eufaula we were met by our old servants and made comfortable, as far as it was possible. Our parlor was a large, bare room, furnished with a few cane-bottomed chairs; the bedrooms were supplied with the plainest furniture, and just a few articles; needful things were added by our kind friends in that little town.
Life went on quietly, with an occasional raid from the enemy, but as we had little of value, we had little to lose.
Letters and refugees from Vicksburg told of the last siege and the final surrender.
Our grandmother’s home was taken and used for General Grant's headquarters. The upper half was retained by my relatives, and the lower was used by the General, his family, and officers.
Soldiers were encamped on the grounds everywhere, but it was a protection, for the General treated all with kindness and consideration, insisting that the officers and men should do the same.
He sent jewels and money through the lines to the North for safe keeping, and did all in his power to relieve suffering, even after his departure trying hard to protect the old homestead, which was subsequently blown up with gun-powder to make way for a useless fort which stands to-day "Fort RollinsRawlins," a monument of bygone days.
Among the loved ones of the family was our governess, who, though Northern born, had lived long in the South with us. She sympathized deeply with the Southern people.
How plainly memory brings back to mind the lovely face framed in its wealth of flowing curles. I can almost hear the sweet notes of that melodious voice which responded so readily to the call of charity, singing expressively the patriotic songs of the day, amid the deafening cheers and shouts of the soldiers.
She attracted a great deal of attention form the Northern men who lived in the same house, and much was done to lessen her ill- feeling against the enemy, but with little success, until General Grant's chief-of-staff, "the courteous General RollinsRawlins," courted her so assiduously and ardently, that she changed the hated enemy into a beloved husband when peace was proclaimed.
The sweet voice has been silent many years in the long sleep of death, but we believe it mingles with the celestial choir on high, far above the vicissitudes of war and earthly trouble.
Peace proclaimed at last! But how dearly bought! Death had entered almost every house-hold in the land, and I could write of women travelling miles over the different battle-fields seeking for their dead.
Some never knew where their loved ones lay. Others more fortunate, with only the aid of a servant, brought back home all that remained of the once dashing soldier.
Hundreds sleep the eternal sleep unclaimed, and their deeds of glory are buried with them; but they are not forgotten, but in the history of the War will be massed together simply as the killed at such and such battle.
My enthusiasm and love of country grow stronger, as the old scenes spring into life, the ruined homes, poverty, distress and death; and yet I feel that the War was inevitable. The Union could not have been separated, and from heart-aches, bitterness and pain, has been born a newer feeling, a newer love for the old Flag; the new South in loving reconciliation holds fast the hand of her Northern brother, and feels that though reconstructed they are Stronger in affection and more united in thought.
from verso of the last page of the typed script
"This was written by my Sister, Annie Laura Harris.
signed Carrie L. Harris.
I have kept it all these years.
I loved her."
The Judge James W. M. Harris Collection, 1857-1900
MS 2000-085
