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

The driver was a veritable young Jehu, and we got over the ground rapidly; but, owing to a mistake in following directions, it was a long time before we reached our destination, the course of which must have been due west from Jonesboro, and through a dense forest. And oh, the beauty of that forest! It will remain a living, vivid memory, as long as life endures. Its rich and heavy foliage had been but lightly tinged by the frosts of autumn, and it was rendered more beautiful by the constant dripping of rain drops from every leaf and blossom. As the evening came on, dense, impenetrable clouds canopied the earth, and shut out every ray of sunlight, and almost every ray of hope. At length night came on, dark and weird, and silent, and we were still in the woods, without compass or star.

Just as my brave heart was about to succumb to despair, a vision of delight burst upon me – a beacon light, yea, hundreds of beacon lights, appeared before me, and filled my soul with joy. The camp-fires of General Cleburne’s brave men beckoned us onward, and gave us friendly greeting. Every revolution of the wagon wheels brought us perceptibly nearer the haven of rest. Sabbath-like quiet reigned throughout the encampment. No boisterous sounds nor profane imprecations broke the stillness. But there was a sound that reached my ear, filling my soul with joy unspeakable. A human voice it was. I had heard it before in the slight wail of infancy; in the merry prattle of childhood; in the melodious songs of youth; in the tender, well-modulated tones of manhood; and now – there was no mistaking it – in the solemn, earnest invocation to the Lord of Hosts for the salvation of the world, for the millenial dawn, and that “peace on earth, and good will to men,” which would never again be broken by the clarion of war, or earth’s rude alarms. No sweeter voice ever entered the courts of Heaven.

My obliging young driver stopped the horses at a favorable distance, and I heard the greater part of that grand prayer, and wept for joy. When it was finished, we moved on, and were hailed by a sentinel who demanded the countersign, I believe it is called. The driver satisfied him, and calling to a soldier, I asked him if he knew Lieutenant Stokes. “Like a book,” he answered. “Please tell him his sister Mary is here,” I said. In a moment I was clasped in his arms with the holy pressure of a brother’s love. His first thought on seeing me was that some calamity must have occurred, and he said, “Sister, is Ma or Missouri dead?” “No, Thomie, but Toby is.”

His brave head bowed low and he wept – sobbed audibly. I told him of Toby’s loving mention of him, and of the boy’s hope of Heaven. After his natural paroxysm of grief had subsided, he looked up, and with an ineffable smile, said:

“Sister, I know you have a secret to tell – what is it?”

“It is this; I have saved all those precious things that were sent to me from Dalton, and I have brought them to deliver to their rightful owners. Help me to do so as quickly as possible, that I may go back to Jonesboro to-night.”

Had a bombshell exploded at his feet, the effect could not have been more electrical. He bounded to General Granbury’s tent with the agility of a deer; he told the news to him and the others assembled there; and he came back, and they all came with him; and had I been a magician, I could not have been an object of greater interest. General Granbury protested against my return to Jonesboro through the darkness of the night, and offered his tent for my occupancy, saying he would go in with some of the other officers. Colonel Robert Young, a friend of years’ standing, was also earnest in his efforts to keep me from carrying out my purpose to go back, and I gave it up. I knew that I was with friends, and permitted myself to be lifted out of the wagon and conducted to the General’s tent. I took a seat upon a camp stool which was placed for me about the center of the tent. The General and his staff officers sat around, and my dear brother was very near me. Thus arranged, a conversation was commenced which continued with slight interruptions into the “wee sma’ hours” of the night. Colonel Young seemed to have something upon his mind which rendered him indifferent to society, or some duty to perform which required his attention outside the tent. At length, however, he came to the door and asked my brother to come out awhile. In a short time both of them came in together, and Colonel Young, after asking us to excuse the interruption of the conversation, remarked that there was something outside that he would like for us to see. My brother took me by the hand and led me out in front of the tent, and all the officers stood in a group around. Imagine my surprise when I perceived a long line of soldiers before us, and an officer on horseback galloping from one end of the line to the other. I ventured to ask my brother if they were going to have a moonlight drill without the moon? He smiled, and a faint pressure of the hand indicated that there was something on the tapis that would please me, but I must wait until it was revealed to others as well. In much less time than it has taken to record this episode a signal was given, and one of the grandest cheers ever heard by mortal man resounded through the midnight darkness and the dense forest, and was echoed over hill and dale. Another signal and another cheer, and yet another of each, and I broke down completely and cried heartily. What had I done that my name should thus be honored by men enduring all the hardships of warfare and fighting for my principles; and yet to me it was the most acceptable compliment ever paid to living woman. I often fancy I hear those voices now blending in one grand harmonious shout of praise to the great God of Heaven and earth, who has doubtless given rest to many of those weary ones.

Once more in General Granbury’s tent, at the earnest solicitation of all present, I continued the rehearsal of all the Federal army news that I had gleaned from close perusal of the United States newspapers and from careless and unsuspicious talkers. General Granbury was evidently startled when I told him that I had heard Federal officers say “Hood was working to their hand precisely in going back to Tennessee, as Thomas was there with an army that was invincible, and would whip him so bad that there would not be a Johnnie Reb left to tell the tale;” and they criticised severely the “generalship” of giving an invading army unobstructed route to the goal of their ambition, which, in this case, was South Carolina. I was asked by one of my auditors to give my impression of the situation, and I did so. As I described the magnitude of the Federal army, and its vindictive spirit as I had seen it, and its implacable feeling towards the South, I saw a shade of sadness pass over the noble faces of all present. “Have you lost hope of the ultimate success of our cause?” was a question I was compelled to answer, because anxiously asked. I, however, imitated a Yankee by asking a question in reply, as to what our resources were, and if they were deemed adequate to cope with a foe which had the world to draw from, both for men and means? “But have you lost hope?” was the question I was called upon to answer without equivocation.

Silence and tears which would well up were interpreted to mean what my tongue refused to speak. My brother perceiving this, put his hand on mine as it lay motionless upon my lap, and said, “Cheer up, sister mine; if you could have seen ‘Old Pat’s’ men on drill this afternoon, you would think we are some ourselves.”

Colonel Young continued to seem very much engaged outside, and, since the demonstration in my honor, had given us only an occasional glimpse of himself. At length he came to the door and said, “Lieutenant, I should like to speak to you.” My brother responded to the call, and soon returned and said: “As there is a hard day’s march before us for to-morrow, we must let the General get a little sleep, and this brave sister of mine must need it, too. Come, let me conduct you to your room.”

Good-byes were spoken that night which, in the providence of God, were destined never to be repeated, and Thomie and Colonel Young led the way to a bran new tent, never used before, and opened the door that I might enter. Thomie said, “My room is next to yours, sister. Pleasant dreams, and refreshing slumbers,” and he kissed me good night. “Good night, dear brother.” “Good night, dear friend,” said I, as he and Colonel Young left the tent. By the dim light I surveyed the “room” and its furnishings, and wept to think that dear Confederate soldiers had deprived themselves of comforts that I might be comfortable. A handsome buffalo robe lay on the ground; and a coat nicely folded for a pillow, and a gray blanket for a cover, invited me to repose. A small pan of water for morning ablution, and a towel, and a mirror about the size of a silver dollar, and a comb and brush, furnished every needed convenience. I removed the skirt of my dress that it might not be wrinkled in the morning, and my mantle for the same cause, and lay down and slept, oh, how sweetly, under the protecting care of those noble men, until awakened by the sweet familiar voice of my brother, saying, “Get up, sister, or you will not be ready for the roll-call,” was his never-to-be-forgotten morning salutation. “As a short horse is soon curried,” it required only a few moments to make myself presentable, and just as I was about announcing myself in that condition, Thomie again appeared at the door with a plate containing my breakfast in one hand, and a tin cup containing a decoction, which he called coffee, in the other. “Here is your breakfast, sister;” and he added, “the ambulance is waiting to carry you to Lovejoy’s station. Lieutenant Jewell and myself have been detailed to accompany you there.”

The army wagons were already falling in line one after another and moving onward in a northwesterly direction; and what remained of the infantry and cavalry of that once magnificent army, which so often had achieved victory under General Joseph E. Johnston, had made their last grand bivouac on Georgia soil, and were moving onward in the line of march to Tennessee, under the command of Hood. They were leaving many a gallant comrade who had bitten the dust and drenched the soil of Georgia with their life-blood, and although they must have feared that the flag they loved so well was now leading them to defeat, yet not one of those true hearts would have deserted it for the wealth of India. As they marched in a different direction from that I was going to take, and the demand for rapid movement was imperative, I could not follow them long with my eye, but the memory of the little I saw will ever be fresh, and, like an inspiration yet to me, their bayonets glittered in a perfect halo of glory, for the mists and clouds of the preceding day had passed away during the night, and a blue sky and bright sun gladdened the earth.

The two young lieutenants took seats opposite to me in the ambulance. Thus arranged, I caught every movement and look of that dear brother from whom I was so soon to part. He never looked more handsome, or appeared to greater advantage. I was his guest, and he entertained me with a “feast of reason and a flow of soul.” At my request he sang some of the songs of “auld lang syne,” but he preferred to talk of our mother and our sister. He recalled incidents of his childhood, and laughed heartily over some of them. He spoke of his Mary in Texas and his love for her, and he took from his vest pocket the impression of the foot and hand of his only child, a dear little boy whom he had never seen, and kissed them, then folded them carefully and put them back in his pocket and said:

“I must hurry back to Texas.”

But back of all this glee and apparent hopefulness I saw, in characters unmistakable, that he was almost bereft of hope, and sustained only by Christian resignation.

We knew, by the immense crowd of people standing and sitting around on improvised seats, that we were approaching the station. The two soldiers got out of the ambulance with the elasticity of youth and health, and Thomie assisted me out. I stood for a moment, as if uncertain where to go, and Lieutenant Jewell grasped my hand and said:

“Good-bye, dear Miss Mary!” and stepped back into the wagon and resumed his seat.

Seeing a large, square old house, which appeared to be full of people, Thomie and I advanced toward it a few steps. Suddenly, as if admonished that a soldier’s duties should have precedence over everything else, he took me in his arms and kissed me fervently once, twice, thrice. I understood for whom they were intended – that trio of kisses. Not a word did he speak, and when he turned his back on me I saw him brush off the silent tears, and more than one step was uneven before his nerves became steady and he ready to report for duty. I felt intuitively that I should never look upon his face again, and I watched him with riveted eyes until I could no longer see him, and then I gazed upon the vehicle containing him until it, too, disappeared forever from my sight. Then, and not till then, I gave way to pent-up sorrow, and cried as one without hope – unreservedly.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE RETURN HOME

From Jonesboro via Augusta – Scenes and Incidents by the way – The lonely journey from Stone Mountain to Decatur

Dazed by a full realization that my brother and every male relative and friend were in the octopus arms of war, cruel and relentless, I stood riveted to the spot where my brother had parted from me, until a gentle hand touched my shoulder, and a pleasant voice gave me friendly greeting. Turning I saw Mrs. Anderson, sister of the brave and gallant Robert Alston, whose tragic fate is known to every reader in this country.

“I am glad to see you. I have just seen your brother Robert,” I said.

“Where? Where? Do tell me that I may go to him!” cried his devoted sister, laughing and weeping alternately.

Having ascertained that the long train of exiles would not leave the station for several hours, I offered to conduct the tender-hearted woman to the camp-fire of her brother. The route took me over the same ground which only a few moments ago I had traveled with my own dear brother; and along which I had seen so vividly a lean, gaunt, phantom hand pointing at his retreating form. Even the horses’ tracks and the ruts made by the wheels could be plainly traced by their freshness and the yet quivering sands; and as I gazed upon them, I fancied they were connecting links between me and him which were binding our souls together, and which I would never grow weary in following. These reflections were often disturbed by questions about “my dear brother Robert,” and by alternate sobs and laughter. The distance seemed much greater, now that I was walking it, but at length we attained our destination, the headquarters of a few of General John Morgan’s gallant defenders of Southern homes and firesides. It would require the descriptive power of a Sims or a Paul Hayne to give an adequate idea of the meeting on this occasion of this demonstrative brother and sister. I will not undertake to do so. He, too, was ready to move in that disastrous campaign, which lost to us the creme de la creme of the Army of the Tennessee, and which aided, as if planned by the most astute Federal tactician, Sherman, in his “march to the sea.”

During the interview between Colonel Alston and his sister, it developed to him that his pretty home had been abandoned to the tender mercies of the enemy by the family in whose care he had left it, and that the Yankees had shipped his wife’s elegant European piano, mirrors and furniture, as well as his library, cut glass and Dresden china to the North; and, besides, in the very malignity of envy and sectional hate, had mutilated and desecrated his house in a shameful manner. His imprecations were fearful; and his vows to get even with the accursed Yankees were even more so. The lamb of a few moments ago was transformed into a lion, roaring and fierce. He accompanied his sister and myself on our return to the station; and never will I forget that walk.

The station reached, the scene of separation of brother and sister was again enacted, and he, too, went to battle-fields, sanguinary and relentless, she to peaceful retreats undisturbed by cannon’s roar.

Here, as at Jonesboro, the face of the earth was literally covered with rude tents and side-tracked cars, which were occupied by exiles from home – defenseless women and children, and an occasional old man tottering on the verge of the grave, awaiting their turn to be transported by over-taxed railroads farther into the constantly diminishing land of their love. During the afternoon I boarded an already well-filled south-bound train, and moved about among its occupants as if at home. For were we not one people, the mothers, wives and sisters of Confederates? The diversity of mind, disposition and temper of this long train of representative women and children of Atlanta, and many miles contiguous, who were carrying minds and hearts brimful of memories never to be obliterated, but rather to harden into asphalt preservation, was illustrated in various ways. Some laughed and talked and jested, and infused the light and warmth of their own sunny natures into others less hopeful; some were morose and churlish, and saw no hope in the future and were impatient with those who did see the silver lining beyond the dark cloud suspended over us; and some very plainly indicated that if our cause failed, they would lose all faith in a prayer-answering God; and others saw wisdom and goodness in all His ways and dispensations, and were willing to submit to any chastisement if it only brought them nearer to the Mercy Seat.

After many delays and adventures, not of sufficient importance to relate, I reached Griswoldville. Here I was received with open arms by that good old father and mother in Israel, Rev. Dr. John S. Wilson and his wife, and his excellent family, whom I found residing in an old freight car. But they were living in a palace compared to many of their neighbors and friends, who had scarcely a shelter to protect them from the inclemency of the weather. Every moment of time with these good people was spent in answering questions and receiving blessings. Not long after this pleasant meeting, Stoneman’s raiders came into Griswoldville, and the household effects of Dr. Wilson’s family were consumed by devouring torches. All their winter clothing, the doctor’s library and his manuscript sermons, were burned to ashes. These sermons were the result of the study and experience of forty years. But this grand old soldier of the cross, although on the verge of threescore years and ten, faltered not; for his eye was fixed on the goal of his heavenly inheritance. Wherever he went, he still preached, and died a few years afterwards at his post in Atlanta, having missed but two preaching appointments in all his ministry, one of these on the Sabbath before he died.

By a circuitous route, which I can now scarcely recall, in the course of time I reached Augusta, the beautiful. I wended my way through the crowded thoroughfares to the residence of friends on Green street, where my sister had sojourned for several weeks, far from the distracting confusion of warfare. After all these long and varied years, I never see that Elysian street without feeling as if I would like to kneel and kiss the ground whereon she found surcease of hostile tread and rancorous foe.

I could scarcely approach the house, in exterior beautiful in all that makes a home attractive. I feared that within sorrowful tidings might await me. No word of the absent sister had come through the enemy’s lines since they were first established, and now I dreaded to hear. More than once I stood still and tried to nerve myself for the worst tidings that could be communicated. And then I ascended the stone steps and rang the door-bell. When the butler came, I hurriedly asked if Miss Stokes was in. As if apprehending my state of feelings, he answered with a broad African grin: “She is, ma’am.”

The pressure of a mountain was removed from my heart, and with a lighter step than I had taken for some time I entered that friendly portal, a welcome guest. A moment sufficed for him to carry the joyous tidings of my presence to my sister, and, as if by magic, she was with me. O, the joy and the sadness of our meeting! To say that each of us was glad beyond our ability to express it, would be a tame statement; and yet neither of us was happy. There was too much sadness connected with ourselves and our country to admit of happiness; yet the report of our mother’s fortitude and usually good health, and the hopeful spirit of our brother, and his numerous messages of love and playful phraseology, cheered my sister so much that she rallied and did all she could to render my brief stay with her as pleasant as possible. And there was a charm in her sweet voice and pleasant words that were soothing to me, and did much to assuage my own grief. Nor were our good friends wanting in efforts of like character. They, too, had drank deep of Marah’s bitter waters. Two noble boys, yet in their teens, had been laid upon the sacrificial altar, an oblation to their country. And a fair young girl had gone down into the tomb, as much a sacrifice to Southern rights as if slain on the battle-field. One other girl and her war-stricken parents survived, and they were devoting their lives to the encouragement of those similarly bereaved.

Although I knew it would pain her greatly, I thought it would be wrong to leave without telling my sister about Toby’s death, and, therefore, I told her. Like our brother, she wept, but not as one without hope. She had been his spiritual instructor, and thoroughly taught him the great and yet easy plan of salvation; and I have never doubted that he caught on to it, and was supported by the arm of Jesus, as he “passed through the dark valley and the shadow of death.”

The time for leaving this peaceful retreat came, and was inexorable; nor would I have stayed if I could. There was a widowed mother, whose head was whitened, not so much by the frost of winters as by sorrow and care, grief and bereavement, awaiting my coming – oh, so anxiously! Waiting to hear from the soldier son, who, even for her sake, and that of his gentle young wife and baby boy in Texas, would listen to no plan of escape from the dangers involved by his first presidential vote. Waiting to hear from the fair young daughter, whom she preferred to banish from home rather than have her exposed to the rude chances of war. That she might not be kept in painful suspense, I determined not to linger on the way. I, therefore, took the morning train on the good old reliable Georgia Railroad for Social Circle. The parting from my sister pained me exceedingly; but I knew she had put her trust in the Lord, and He would take care of her. It may be asked why I did not have the same faith regarding the preservation of my brother. He, too, was a Christian. “He that taketh the sword shall perish by the sword,” is a divine assertion, and it was constantly repeating itself in my ears; yea, I had heard him repeat it with emphasis.

The trip from Augusta to Social Circle was replete with melancholy interest, and differed very materially from the trip from Atlanta to Jonesboro. Here those who had the courage to do so were returning to their homes, and were on the qui vive for every item of news obtainable from within the enemy’s lines; but nothing satisfactory encouraged their hope of better treatment. One marked difference appeared in the character of those who were venturing homeward. There was scarcely any young persons – not a single young lady. The good old mother railroad was very deliberate in her movements, and gave her patrons time to get acquainted and chat a little on the way, and this we did without restraint.

We discussed the situation, and narrated our diversified experiences, and this interchange of thought and feeling brought us very near together, and made us wondrous kind to one another. At one of the stations at which the train stopped, and had to wait a long while, I saw several of the young soldiers from Decatur. Among them was Ryland Holmes, and, I think, Mose Brown.

About a dozen ladies were going within the enemy’s lines and would there separate for their respective homes. We agreed to hire a wagon team and driver at Social Circle, that we might take it “turn about” in riding to Stone Mountain. As I was the only one going beyond that point, I determined to take my chance from there for getting to Decatur, and go on foot if need be. Our plan was successful, as, after much effort, we obtained an old rickety wagon, which had doubtless done good service in its day, and a yoke of mis-mated oxen, and a negro driver. For this equipage we paid an enormous sum, and, thinking we ought to have the full benefit of it, we all got into the wagon to take a ride. Compassion for the oxen, however, caused first one and then another to descend to the ground, and march in the direction of home, sometimes two abreast and sometimes in single file. Night overtook us at a house only a short distance from the Circle, and in a body we appealed for shelter beneath its roof. The man of the family was at home, under what circumstances I have never heard, and to him we appealed, and from him we received an ungracious “permit” to stay in his house. Seeing no inviting prospects for rest and repose, I established myself in a corner and took out of my reticule some nice German wool that had been given to me by my friends in Augusta, and cast on the stitches for a throat-warmer, or, in the parlance of that day, “a comforter.” Mine host watched the process with much interest. When the pattern developed, he admired it, and expressed a wish to have one like it. Glad of the privilege to liquidate my indebtedness for the prospective night’s shelter, I told him if he would furnish the material I would knit him one just like it. The material seemed to be in waiting, and was brought forward, soft, pretty lambs’ wool thread, and I put it in my already well-filled hand satchel to await future manipulation. The accommodation in the way of bedding was inadequate, and more than one of our party passed a sleepless night; but what mattered it? Were we not Confederate soldiers, or very near akin to them?