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Robert E. Lee Portrait
Page) eral view of the battle field in front of the Landrum House,
the breast works on the right being our advanced line the day before, and those
on the left the rebel line, which was a very powerful one. Our troops were
massed along under its cover, having turned it on its defenders, except at the
head of the valley, where they still held one side and we the other. This was
the scene of the most deadly struggle that this campaign has seen.
Another picture, on page 360,
presents a scene which has been very common since the opening of the present
campaign, namely, a Dull Day in Camp. The time at which this sketch was taken
was six o'clock in the evening. Mr. WAUD'S sketch of the capture of rebel
prisoners by a charge of General WRIGHT'S Corps shows how like a drove of
frightened cattle they were driven into our lines by our gallant veterans. The
prisoners, 1200 in all, came along pell-mell, anxious to get out of the range of
their compatriots firing on our troops. If this charge had been made earlier in
the afternoon it is probable that even greater success would have resulted from
Of another illustration on
357 Mr. WAUD, who furnishes these sketches, says: " The fires in the woods,
caused by the explosion of shells, and the fires made for cooking, spreading
around, caused some terrible suffering. It is not supposed that many lives were
lost in this horrible manner ; but there were some poor fellows, whose wounds
had disabled them, who perished in that dreadful flame. Some were carried off by
the ambulance corps, others in blankets suspended to four muskets, and more by
the aid of sticks, muskets, or even by crawling. The fire advanced on all sides
through the tall grass, and, taking the dry pines, raged up to their tops."
" You wanted to hear about the
warning? Very well, then ; toss me that bundle, please, and hold this zephyr
while I wind, and I'll tell you all about it."
Aunt Hepzie had come over to take
tea with my mother, and the two were sitting, in cheerful state, before the
parlor fire ; aunty was arrayed in her pontificals, her best alpaca gown and
silk apron, with a stiff cap, which always came in a box and went in a box, and
during the interregnum towered sublimely upon its owner's head.
"Is there any thing of interest
in the village?" asked mother. Aunt Hepzie was from the village. We were
"No, nothin' partikelar that I
know of," replied my aunt, conscientiously, at the same time adjusting her
knitting sheath. " I think our church is in an awful condition."
"Why do you ? I thought they had
seemed very united the last year," remarked mother.
"United! Oh dear yes, Deacon Hall
he say we're all froze together. Oh, he talked beautiful about it 't the last
Confrence meetin'. Said he wondered the storms that come down on Sodom and
Gomorrer didn't visit us. Oh, it's o' the Lord's mercy that we ain't consumed,
every one on us !" and aunty gave a deep sigh.
" Why as to that, it's of God's
mercy we have all our blessings, isn't it Hephzibah?" replied mother, with some
energy. She never relished aunty's at-tacks upon times and people ; and she went
on, " As for thinking that we are in any danger of the fate of Sodom, I don't ;
I don't even think we are particularly deserving of it. No doubt we have all
great reason to be humble on account of our sins; but what's the use of saying
that we live in the worst age, and among the worst people? It's no such thing !
For my part, I'm thankful my. lines have fallen in such pleasant places."
" Well, Susan, I'm glad ef you
can take such a cheerful view on't ! but that warn't the way Deacon Hall talked.
An' speakin' o' him reminds me; they do say 't Clarissy Hall's reely goin' to be
married. They berried Miss Squire Jones's cake tins this mornin'. Borryin' them
cake tins allers means a weddin' ; right off too. An' that makes me think"
—aunty was fairly under way now. I knew there would be no intermission until tea
"D'ye know that Squire Jones's
nephew had come up from New York to spend the summer?"
"No. We hadn't heard of it. What
nephew?" asked mother.
"Why, young Farley. You remember
his mother ; she 't was Lecty Jones. She married a Far-ley, an' they went off
down country some wheres to live, an' this is her son."
"Ah yes, I remember his mother
perfectly. Well, this will be very pleasant for Mrs. Jones."
"Pleasant for the girls, you'd
better say! Master hand he is for the girls, they tell me, and I shouldn't
wonder. Come up here for his health indeed ! ' Don't believe a word of it. I see
him to meetin' 'long o' Miss Jones, an' he looked well 'nough, 'cordin' to my
way o' thinkin'. All pink and white. Well, I know one thing! Ef I was a girl I
wouldn't speak to him with all his airs. The upstart !" and aunty made an
emphatic pause. There was a silence broken only by the clicking of two sets of
knitting-needles. I had a book, reading with my eyes and hearing with my ears,
quite conscious that the present subject was supposed to have bearings upon
" I tell you," began Aunt Hepzie
again, sturdily, "girls better be pretty careful. City beaus is mighty onsartain—mighty
onsartain," and she repeated the words to render them still more impressive. "
All they care for country girls is to kite about an' hey a good time with 'em
here, an' when they gel back to the city they don't think no more about 'em 'n
they do about last year's robins—not a whit more ; so, Loizy"—here she sent a
shot from her black eyes over her spectacles at me—" so now you may take warnin'."
"Thank you, aunty, but I don't
think it will be needed. Pink and white people aren't just my style, you know,"
Just out of the city there was a
grand old place with bay-windows and balconies, fountains and
flowers. That was the Farley
place. Up on the hill there was a brown house with low roof and vine-covered
porch. That was our house. Philip Farley's father owned ships on sea and blocks
on shore. Mine had gone to sleep years ago under the tangle of wild brier and
golden-rod up in the church-yard.
Six feet tall and
broad-shouldered, with blue eyes, light hair, and a beard golden and silken like
embroidery floss—that's Philip.
You see how little and dark I am
; and my hair, did you ever see it down ? Look at me then when I take the combs
out. Black as night, and nearly covers me, you see. "Vain of it," you say? A
trifle, perhaps. Why not? I know it's beautiful. If I were pretty myself I'd own
it all the same ; but I'm not, you know. Wasn't it odd that a great mass of
sunshine like Philip should fancy a little dusky bit of shadow like me ? But he
did, and I knew it, of course. A woman always knows, I suppose. And I don't mind
now telling you that I liked him from the first. In fact we were in love ; I use
the expression under protest, because it's the briefest way of putting it.
You know there is a class of our
country people who, for some reason or other, are inimical toward their city
brethren. You can easily imagine that my Aunt Hepzie was one of these. It was a
few days after her tea-drinking at our house that she was bustling about one
bright morning in her tidy kitchen, and that kitchen, by-the-by, you should see.
From silver spoon down to brass kettle, every thing shines. It would be a work
of supererogation to introduce mirrors into that house, when one may see one's
face in every thing. But, as I said, Aunt Hepzie was in the kitchen when she
heard a "skrimping noise," as she reported to me subsequently, with a vigor of
diction peculiarly her own, and turning, she was aware of a figure standing in
" Mrs. Sinclair, I think," said
the stranger, with a bow.
" Yes, that is my name," replied
auntie, more concise than suave. " What did he want to come to the back door
for?" she thought.
" And mine is Farley," said the
young man ; " I think you used to know my mother, Mrs. Sinclair; and I hope
you'll let me come and see you some-times for old acquaintance's sake."
" I'd be very glad to see you,
I'm sure," said aunty, a little less stiffly—the chivalrous bearing of the
visitor was not lost upon the hostess.
"My aunt sent over this basket of
roots from her garden. Perhaps you will allow me to set them for you in your
border," he said.
" Oh, I'm much obleeged ! Won't
you just come in and sit down a minute ?"
And the young man crossed the
kitchen, flinging his broad-brimmed straw-hat upon the white table, tossing back
his curls, and then seizing upon the dozing cat :
" Wake up here, puss, and see
your friends !" he said, holding the astonished quadruped at arms-length by the
nape of her neck. "And, by-the-by, Mrs. Sinclair, how is your dog Beppo ? I
heard that some rascallion had broken the old fellow's leg for him."
" Yes, indeed !" said Aunt Hepzie,
and she went on to detail the abuses of her favorite.
What the heel was to Achilles,
what the joint of the harness was to the Israelitish king, her dog and cat were
to my good aunt. This bow, drawn at a venture, had sent its shaft to the
vulnerable point; and by the time Beppo's leg had been bandaged by the visitor
Aunt Hepzie's animosity had vanished.
" Won't you sit down an' take a
bit o' dinner with an old woman ?" she asked, when they came back to the
" Indeed I will, if you'll let me
: privately, Mrs. Sinclair"—and his face assumed a confidential expression—" I
hoped you'd ask me, because I've heard every where of your wonderful butter, and
I want to taste it."
" Oh, bless your soul, my butter
ain't nothin' to brag of! When you go home though, you remind me an' I'll send
'long a ball on't to Miss Jones. Your aunt she's allers talkin' about my
And so Aunt Hepzie, fairly
conquered by good-nature, laid down her arms, and was no more to be ranked among
belligerent powers. And so, I sup-pose, she forgot her "warning;" but not so I.
There was not one of all those summer afternoons when Philip and I sat reading
together on the porch, not an hour of all those remembered hours when we went
floating down the river, when I for one moment forgot. Neither did I forget my
mother's story of her beautiful young sister : " Lucy, aged eighteen," the
head-stone said, whose heart a noble lover had held and treasured, until, one
day, there came a gay suitor from the city and stole the prize, and afterward
trampled upon it. I remembered it all, and I said to myself many times in the
day that it was only for a little while—only for those summer days, and then I
was sure things could easily be made to fall back into the old line again.
It was May when Aunt Hepzie came
to tea. It was September when Philip and I stood, one evening, upon the porch.
The woodbine was crimson, and away down the west the day was burning it-self out
behind golden bars. We had been riding up on the hills to see the sun set.
" Good-night," I said, my hand
upon the latch of the door.
" Stop a moment, Lou !"
And I turned, startled a little
at the quick, peremptory tone.
" Your servant, Sir," and I made
a mock obeisance.
Philip stood pulling the leaves
from the vine, and his face was very white. I think mine was white too, when he
" Do you know I'm going back
to-morrow, Lou ?" "Back where?" Of course I knew, but I had lies plenty in my
right hand that night.
" Home. Back to New York, and God
knows where then—into the army, perhaps," speaking quickly.
" Well, it has been a very
pleasant summer," I
said, carelessly enough. And then
no one spoke, and it was very still, only I could bear the rushing of the brook
in the glen.
" Is that all you have to say to
me before I go, Lou?" he asked.
"I never bid my friends good-by.
It isn't pleas-ant. Of course I wish you a delightful journey," I replied,
coolly. "I don't recollect that I've any thing more to say."
" Well, I have, then, to say to
you." And he pulled a handful of crimson leaves, and flung them, a shower of
flame, upon my black habit. "Lou! you must know it--I love you. I will not bid
you good-by for long. You must tell me when I am to come back and claim my
0 rank is good, and gold is fair,
And rich and poor mate ill,"'
I hummed from a ballad we had
read that very day.
" Lou, how provoking you are !
But why don't you go on ?
"'But love has never known a law
Beyond his own sweet will.' "
"Because mine is common-sense,
and yours is poetry. The latter is wretchedly out of place in this everyday
world of ours, but common-sense, fortunately, is coin current the world over."
" And do common-sense and poetry
never go together, I wonder ? But seriously, Lou, you must list% to me."
" And seriously, Philip, this is
folly. You will blush for it to -morrow. Besides, begging your pardon, the old
play of the city lover and the rustic lassie is becoming stale. If you please,
we'll not have it acted over again at my expense."
" Stop, Lou !" and he spoke
sternly this time, "this is too much for a man to bear. Can't you be in earnest
" I am in earnest."
" Tell me, then," and he took a
step nearer me, speaking fiercely. His black figure shut out all the glowing
sky. " Tell me, child, do you love me?" "No."
He stood still an instant, then
his hand touched mine, and then I was straining my eyes through the darkness
where he was disappearing among the trees. I went in and closed the door behind
me. I had done my duty, I thought.
And next morning, of all that
bright happy summer there remained only a handful of red leaves, broken off, and
drying upon the floor of the porch.
And I? Of course I was very
miserable. I never stopped to think ; only sometimes in the night, up in my
little room, with the stars looking at me through the one dormer window.
Daytimes there were things enough to keep off thought.
The morning Philip went away we
sat at break-fast and I heard the whistle of the train. Some-thing hard came
into my throat. I thought, "He is gone, and he was more to me than all the
world." I said, " Isn't it nearly time to begin house-cleaning, mother?"
" I was thinking of that last
night. It's past the middle of the month," and mother threw a searching glance
across to my face. " Saul among the prophets," her countenance said. I had never
been notable—the contrary rather. I cared more for my books.
" Then why not begin to-day?" I
asked, adding enthusiastically, " I like house-cleaning !"
Mother looked incredulous, and
more than in-credulous looked Aunt Hepzie when she came in, two hours afterward,
and found the parlor carpet up, the books down, and half the chairs inverted,
their sword-like legs bristling at each other in the most belligerent manner.
"Mercy to me, Loizy, ef you ain't
a cleanin' house!" and aunty raised both hands in consternation.
" Certainly; and why not, aunty?"
"Why not, indeed! Pretty time for
you to be askin' that question ; but better late 'n no time." My want of
domesticity had been a great trial to my affectionate kin, and to none a greater
than to Aunt Hepzie.
"'Spose you knew 't Philip Farley
had gone off this morning ?" and aunty excavated a seat for her-self among the
books in the great chair.
"I knew he was intending to go
soon," I replied, unconcernedly, as I mounted a table and began taking down
" Yes, he's gone. He come over to
bid me good-by, an' I do declare't I reely pitied the fellow ; he acted so
sorter down in the mouth. Somethin' gone wrong now, I tell you. He stood there
on my doorstone, an' sez I to him, `I hope you'll be here again next summer, Mr.
Philip ;' and he said, `I don't know when I shall ever come again, Aunt Hepzie.'
Then I laughed, an' told him most likely he wouldn't never want to come and see
us. `You'll forget all about us when you get along with your grand city folks,'
sez I ; an' to my dyin' day I shall remember how he looked when he said, `We
don't forget so easily, my good friend; but I wish to Heaven I could forget the
last three months, although they have been the happiest of my life.' An' then he
never said another word, only he shook hands with me and went out o' the yard ;
and if you can b'leve it, I just sat down an' cried. I did hate to hey him go ;
he's ben so chipper round 'mong our folks this summer. Lawful heart, Loizy !
what hey ye done ? Smashed yer fingers all to nothin' ? Can't ye handle a hammer
better 'n that, child?"
"Never mind, it's nothing," I
said. I had crushed my finger, and the blood was streaming. The pain was a
relief. I sat down, in medics res, to bind up the wound.
" That's right, dear ; do it
straight up in the blood. Better 'n any salve that is to cure a hurt," said Aunt
" Thank you, aunty; I'll try your
recipe." It was more than a finger wound that I bound up in its own fresh blood
" Where's your mother ?"
" In the garden, I think."
" Well, I've brought her over a
bundle o' valerian. She was tellin' on me that she was troubled to sleep o'
nights. Hain't ye minded, Loizy, how pale your mother's ben a gettin' lately ?"
"No; I hadn't noticed." And I
cursed my blindness when I saw upon her face that night the same look which,
years before, my father's had worn.
That winter she died. It was
New-Year's morning when, all along the country side, women stood out upon their
door-steps, silent, listening, counting, while the bell tolled the years of my
mother's life. During the storm and the darkness of that winter night her spirit
had gone out and up, and the heavens had received her out of my sight. I was
alone. A few weeks, and my solitary, aimless life became intolerable. Small as I
am, I am strong of body and iron of nerve. You know there are places where such
women are needed to-day, and in a month I was a hospital nurse.
Not one of your city hospitals
was it; but a large building, with windows looking every way; with plenty of
God's blue heaven above, and plenty of his fresh air wafted through it—a place
to sleep, to rest, to grow strong, and, if God so willed, to die in.
A September day was nearing its
close. Gold-en lights and violet shadows flecked the Virginia hills. How calm
and still it was over there toward the sunset ! and yet, just beyond those
hills, yesterday, a fierce battle had raged. All day long those weary hospital
trains had brought us loads of wounded and dying; but now, with the twilight,
tame a peaceful hush through all the wards. I stood still a moment by an open
window. Those moments of rest were rare enough now. It was just a year that
night since Philip went away. Did he re-member? I wondered. I couldn't help this
won-der sometimes, though I had tried to put it all by.
" This way a moment, Miss
Sinclair, if you're not busy!" It was Dr. Mills who spoke. "I want a steady
hand," he continued, as I followed him down the room. " A bad case, very bad
case! A young Captain, wounded yesterday, busy all day giving orders about his
men, and now there must be an amputation ;" and we went on.
"What is it, Freddie ?" A little
brown-haired drummer-boy put out his hand as I passed his cot.
" Are you too tired to write to
my mother to-night, please?"
"No, my boy, I'll come back in
half an hour;" and the next instant I stood by the side of the new patient. The
assistant-surgeon was there. "Chloroform?" he asked. "No," said Dr. Mills; and
then to me, "Are you strong enough to hold this arm ? The other is to be taken
I took my place, bracing against
the wall. It was a slender hand, with fingers straight and round. I glanced
toward the face ; a handkerchief was thrown over it, the impulse of a brave man,
in his agony, to conceal the sari-things of pain.
" Take charge of this for a few
days, will you?" and I started slightly as Dr. Mills handed me a
pocket-photograph case. It was like the one Philip used to carry, and, as I took
it, one red-leaf fluttered to the floor.
"Are we all ready?" asked Dr.
Mills, and that instant a little red gleam from the open sleeve of the wounded
man sent a sudden sickness all over me.
"Wait a moment, please," I
My own coral bracelet ! There was
no mistaking it, for the trinket was of curious carving, and quaint design; " a
heathenish-looking thing," mother al-ways said—brought from abroad by a
sea-faring relative. I had lost it more than a year before in one of my
boat-rides with Philip Farley. I supposed it was at the bottom of the river ; I
Lad never thought to find it here. I knew then whose hand I was holding through
that fearful struggle; knew more, that, through those weary months, while I had
been trying to forget, he, during all the turmoil and tumult of a soldier's
life, had never forgotten.
Half an hour afterward I went
back to my little drummer-boy. "Why, Miss Sinclair," he said, "how handsome
you've grown I What makes you look so happy ?"
" I've found my best friend,
Freddie.!" I said. The letter to his mother was a cheerful one that night.
You know the rest ; how, as soon
as Philip was strong enough, we came home—a pleasant home to come to, wasn't it?
But there's the tea-bell, and there's Philip coming up the walk. Oh, one thing
more! Do you know Aunt Hepzie is coming to pay us a visit next month—coming to
see the results of her "warning," I suppose!
FRONT OF DALTON, GEORGIA,
May 12, 1864.
God never leaveth utterly
The world that He hath rounded;
All human stress is by the sea Of Ills dear pity bounded.
Upon no Israel, to its ill,
The grip of Pharoah closes,
Beyond the liberating skill
Of some anointed Moses.
Beside us in all utmost straits
Walk the delivering angels,
And on the wings of our black
hates Ride His supreme evangels. In riotous glut of wrongs abhorred
A people's shame increases,
When 1o! some prophet draws his
And cleaves the lie in pieces.
0 leader of our sacred cause,
Twin sharer in our sadness,
Defender of the trampled laws From perjured felon's madness—In all our press of
mortal strife, Our weariness and weeping,
Our hearts thank God our
Is in thine honest keeping !