THE UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 THE WILMER COLLECTION 
 
 OF CIVIL WAR NOVELS 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 RICHARD H. WILMER, JR. 
 
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Digitized by tine Internet Arcinive 
 
 in 2009 witii funding from 
 
 University of Nortin Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/joeboyinwartimesOObigh 
 
JO£: 
 
 R Boy ii] ttje War-tinqes 
 
 BY R. W. BIGHHM, 
 
 Authorof " Vinny Leal's Trip to the Golden Shore," " Wine and Blood ; or. 
 Uncle Viv'a Story," and "California Gold-field Scenes." 
 
 FOURTH THOUSAND, 
 
 Sunday-school Department. 
 
 Publishing House op the M. e. Church, South. 
 
 Barbee & Smith, Agents, Nashville, Tenn. 
 
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in tlie year 1869, 
 
 Br THE Book Agents op the Methodist Episcopal Choech, South, 
 
 In the Office of ilic Librarian of Congress, at Wasliinjrton. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 ClTAPTEPv I. PAGB 
 
 Driven Awcay from Home 7 
 
 Chapter II. 
 A Fl^me Shot up Into the Clouds 19 
 
 Chapter III. 
 Falling in with Grateful Enemies 38 
 
 Chapter IV. 
 Joe said, " On, Boone, on ! " 54 
 
 Chapter V. 
 The Refugees Safe Among Friends 67 
 
 Chapter VI. 
 A New Experience to Joe 76 
 
 Chapter VII. 
 A Rebel Soldier Kissed the Coffin 90 
 
 Chapter VIII. 
 Sounded from the Jungle 103 
 
 Chapter IX. 
 
 Gathering of the Armies 128 
 
 (3) 
 
 602723 
 
Contents. 
 
 Chapter X. p\oe 
 
 The Roar as of Many Thundere 142 
 
 Chapter XI. 
 The Boy on the Battle-field 152 
 
 Chapter XII. 
 A Despairing Mother's Joy 1 <U 
 
 Chapter XIII. 
 A Rare, Brave, Gentle Lad 182 
 
 Chapter XIV. 
 A Joyous Family Reunion 193 
 
 Chapter XV. 
 Returning to the Old Homestead 200 
 
 Chapter XVI. 
 A Touching Story Retold 212 
 
 Chapter XVII. 
 Peace ^Mcans Peace with Brave ^Men 223 
 
INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 The following story is full of stirring incident. The 
 author has given a grai^hic description of the scenes 
 through which many Confederate families passed dur- 
 ing the war. He has avoided all bitterness of expres- 
 sion and all unkind partisan feeling in the narrative. 
 Although a " full-blooded " Southerner, he deals kindly 
 with the Federals, even when describing the desolation 
 produced by their invasion of the South. He gives the 
 "Unionists" credit for kindness to their Confederate 
 neighbors, when entitled to it, and evidently wishes to 
 be just to all parties wdiile true to his own. He uses 
 the word " Eebel " as equivalent to Confederate, in his 
 " free-and-easy " way, but does not intend by it to im- 
 ply the stigma of rebellion. As a true Southerner he 
 must resent the epithet when used in a political or par- 
 tisan sense. The Southerners are, and always have been, 
 loyal to the principles upon which our government was 
 founded, and upon which our free institutions rest to- 
 day. Resistance to the aggressive movements of a dom- 
 inant political party is not rebellion. 
 
 AV. G. E. CUNNYXGIIAM, 
 
 Sunday-school Editor. 
 Nashville, Tcnn., July, 18S9. 
 
 (5) 
 
 579833 
 
(6) 
 
JOE: A BOY IN THE WUR-TIMES. 
 
 CHAPTEl^ I. 
 
 Driven Away from Home. 
 
 THE mountains were round about the narrow 
 valley. Huge rocks in tangles of ferns and 
 mosses, bleak chasms with craggy walls of 
 gray rent rocks, bluffs along the height belted 
 by levels breaking into drear precipices, the 
 sheer peaks, the wild brakes of stone and shrub 
 and tree, the sky bending down to them, set 
 the soul to thinking of mysteries. They were 
 the Alleghanies. 
 
 They were often called the Blue Kidge; for, 
 however bright the day, the mists swam along 
 their sides and brows in smoke-like weaves, 
 here of brighter, there of darker hues, invest- 
 ing every thing with an azure too delicate for 
 the artist's imitation, so strangely ethereal 
 that the mind peoples the blue wastes with ^^elf 
 and fairy sprite" and restful innocencv. Yet 
 
8 Joe: A Boy in the War-tbnes. 
 
 their abysses were full of muttering pain, and 
 splotches of blood grimed their crags and leafy 
 sides; for, in the Civil War of 1861-5, both the 
 Federal and Confederate armies made frequent 
 incursions among them, and neighbor was set 
 against neighbor whose feuds were fierce, mak- 
 ing them a "dark and bloody ground." 
 
 Near the limy creek, which encircled the 
 ridge that overlooked the valley and fell into 
 the Tennessee Eiver a few miles distant, a 
 long, low log house stood in 1863, sheltered 
 by great oaks and flowering vines. Mrs. Don- 
 al, whose husband was in the Southern army, 
 ,dwelt there with her children, Joe, Benny, and 
 Edna — ten, eight, and six years of age. She 
 often, day and night, looked dreamily toward 
 some far-off ridges dimmed by distance, north 
 of the sunny valley, for she had last heard of 
 her husband in that direction, leading his Con- 
 federate company amidst the flames of battle. 
 
 The children were at play among the trees, 
 their rabbit-dog, Boone, helping them in the 
 fun; but every now and then a hush came upon 
 them, and they peered down the road or up 
 
Driven Away from Home. 9 
 
 the trails along the cliffs, till Joe said; "I 
 don't see him. If I could jest see father a — a 
 little ! He's been gone to the war so long. You 
 all run to the woods-gap and look up the squir- 
 rel path. May be he's a-comin' from the army 
 that-a-way." 
 
 So they did. Benny's bare feet pattered 
 over the pebbles, and little Edna sped along 
 with him, saying every step or two: *' Benny, 
 show me father first. Now, Benny, I must see 
 him first — mother said so." "Well," he re- 
 plied, puffing and blowing, " I'll jes' — jest open 
 my eyes a little bit at him quick, and you can 
 see him all over first." 
 
 But they found him not, though they lin- 
 gered peeping through the fence-cracks at the 
 mountain whose bulging, jumbled sides and ^y 
 thickets always witched them. Yet they w^on- 
 dered at the stories told of late, of soldiers in 
 hiding, and men being killed, and fierce fights 
 of bands of Unionists and Southerners in the 
 hollows and tops of the mountains, which 
 scared them as they watched the blue mists 
 crawl up toward its rugged crown. Even that 
 
10 Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 morning a tragedy was enacted in its jungles, 
 Avliicli ere night fired with intolerant rage the 
 valley neighbors; for a Confederate soldier 
 venturing home on a sick furlough had been 
 seen in his hiding-place by some citizen Union- 
 ists, and in attempting to capture him two of 
 them had fallen in the combat — one slain, an- 
 other disabled by wounds. 
 
 As the boy and the girl stood at the gap in 
 the valley, pointing out to each other the naked 
 places on the mountain where the trail wind- 
 ing among the mists could be seen, they sud- 
 denly hushed their prattle and climbed upon 
 the fence, amazed by the long zigzag line of 
 blue horsemen with flashing weapons, noAv in 
 a clear j^lace, now hidden in the flowing va- 
 por, coming down toward them. They watched 
 the troops breathlessly till, startled by the 
 bugle-notes at the ford of the creek, echoed 
 shrilly by tlie wild bluffs, they fled to Joe and 
 on to the house, whither the Federal soldiers 
 had preceded them and were speaking angrily 
 to their mother on the porch. She knew most 
 of them, for many had joined the Fedei-ai 
 
Driven Away from Home. 11 
 
 army from the valley, and from the dingles 
 and steeps about it. Their wrath grew as 
 they talked, till one of them cursed her, and, 
 pointing far up the ridge, said: "Some one 
 has killed Scott to-day up near the summit, 
 and Eason is badly wounded. It is the work 
 of Captain Donal or of some of his like — 
 curses on him. We will burn the house over 
 your head, or find him and burn him in the 
 flames." 
 
 She appeared more like a life-size statue 
 than a living form, so still and pale had his 
 statement made her ; but. her eyes flashed as 
 she thought of his curse and threat of her hus- 
 band, and she replied: *'Your men are ran- 
 sacking every room and nook for him; they 
 need not. If you dare go where bullets fly 
 thickest, and will seek him at the battle-front, 
 you will meet him. He wars not upon women 
 and children and homes. Go." 
 
 Her voice was not above the usual conversa- 
 tional tone, yet each word was so true and im- 
 passioned that it fell like an electric spark 
 upon the hearts of the brave men present; but 
 
12 Joe : A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 they repressed any show of approval while the 
 bluut soldier quivered with sharae and fury as 
 he retorted: " Yes, at the battle-front, if not 
 hereabout shooting his betters from safe hid- 
 ing-places — running fastest from the Union- 
 ists, for the cursed rebels are now flying like 
 gray wolves toward Chattanooga." 
 
 Her face turned paler, but she did not reply. 
 It was the first news she had had of the Con- 
 federate defeat and flight from the posts a 
 score or so of miles northward; and her heart 
 in the moment told her of deeper woes gath- 
 ering for her and hers. Ere the angry soldier 
 could add other derisive words, the captain 
 spurred to his side, and, touching his cap to 
 her, said: "Pardon, madam. Your husband 
 is known well to some of us. No braver man 
 is among our foes; would he were our friend. 
 Ours is a painful duty. The neighbors, nearly 
 all, have repeatedly insisted at head-quarters 
 that you and other rebel families must leave. 
 My orders are to send you away within thirty- 
 six hours. I beg you will go without force. 
 Several Federal companies may enter the val- 
 
Driven Aivay from Home. 13 
 
 ley any day, as it is true the Confederates are 
 retreating; and the Unionists in this section 
 are I'un mad by neighborhood strife and blood- 
 shed added to the other horrors of war. If 
 you are not gone by sunrise the second day 
 from this one — southward, unless you prefer 
 to go quite above the Federal lines — I cannot 
 answer for the result. The place may be sacked 
 and burned, while any one looking kindly upon 
 you may get into like trouble for befriending 
 you. You certainly will be forced away if you 
 delay. In the excited state of feeling running 
 so wild here now it is reasonable to expect 
 the worst — the sooner you can go the better. 
 From my heart I wish you a peaceful jour- 
 ney." And, bowing, at his signal the bugle 
 sounded to march. 
 
 Some of the soldiers scowled as they wheeled 
 into line, others saluted courteously, and a 
 few, as though to avoid noting her grief, looked 
 away across the hills, the shadows of the twi- 
 light settling down upon every thing. 
 
 She stood in the door-way Igng after the sol- 
 diers had disappeared, the children clinging 
 
14 Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 to her. Every now and then Joe said, " Moth- ' 
 er, mother," but she answered not. Edna 
 kissed her hand, then kissed it again, but she 
 noticed not; and hot-headed Benny said an- 
 gry words, but she heard them not. 
 
 The minutes flew by, the darkness thickened, 
 the mountain vapors gathered themselves into 
 black banks and rolled down into the valley, 
 filling it with the roar of the rain, the sough- 
 ing trees rattled their interlocked limbs above 
 her, but she stood there, only smothered sobs 
 telling the children she was alive. Joe drew 
 a chair close to her, and tugged at her dress 
 and said: " Sit down, mother! res' — rest some, 
 now. Never mi — mind, mother; we'll tell fa- 
 ther when he comes." 
 
 Alas, Joe ! the wear's griefs and cares have en- 
 tered your boyish heart in earnest at last, and 
 the trouble is more than father can manage, 
 however all-sufficient a boy's father appears to 
 him to be. Yet it was well that he could not 
 see beyond the present evil. Had he seen 
 then the troubles like black clouds gathering 
 over the family's f aturo, whicli were to burden 
 
Driven Away from Home. 15 
 
 him as though he were a man, his heart woukl 
 have despaired. Though his mother shivered 
 as she heard the suppressed sob which accom- 
 panied his tender words, she remained stand- 
 ing gazing into the black night. The chill of 
 the rain-fall crept about the open house from 
 room to room, a hush came upon the children, 
 the old house seemed to be tenantless, the dog 
 fled into the yard from the mysterious silence 
 and howled for very loneliness, a catamount's 
 scream echoed in the gorges, thunders rolled 
 just above her as though the clouds were 
 breaking into rain again, and the roar of the 
 torrents tumbling from the crags to the groan- 
 ing creek troubled the air about her; but 
 neither the silence nor the tumult moved her 
 — absorbed in her thickening griefs. At last 
 she said, as though whispering to the sprites 
 of the mists: "My forefathers built this old 
 house long ago, amidst Indian war-whoops 
 and tomahawks. I was born and wedded in 
 it. Here my children were born, and my par- 
 ents went to heaven from it. It is the only 
 home I have ever known. My heart is linked 
 
16 Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 to it by fond memories. My life is wedded to 
 it — to its rooms aud its trees, and fruits and 
 flowers, its mountains and skies. How can I 
 give it up? But it must be. ' Go quite above 
 the Federal lines!' No, no. I'll follow my 
 retreating people southward, and live or die 
 as they live or die — their fate, dark or bright, 
 I will share." 
 
 The clouds rolled on, and the lightning 
 played in her dark hair and fell about her 
 children clinging to her dress; and she sat 
 down, and they leaned upon her as she wept 
 softly, till they were asleep — and she remem- 
 bered they were supperless. So she let the 
 sleeping forms rest upon the floor, and, clos- 
 ing the house, kindled a fire and soon gath- 
 ered them around her to a supper of bread 
 and milk. When she called them about her 
 in prayer, they repeated each petition after 
 her as usual till she said, "And bless our en- 
 emies, the Unionists, and give them good 
 hearts." Edna repeated the words promptly, 
 Joe hesitantly and only because of his rever- 
 ence for lier. She waited to hear Benny re- 
 
Driven Aimy from Home. 17 
 
 peat them, but lie was silent. She thought 
 she knew what was perplexing the hot-headed 
 lad— that his mind was full of the scene on 
 the porch, with the threatening, cursing sol- 
 dier, and she said again, quietly: "Bless our 
 enemies, and give them good hearts." 
 
 But Benny stuck his face down harder in 
 the chair, and said nothing. 
 
 Joe said: ''Say it, Benny. Don't you see 
 mother's a-waitin' for you? " 
 
 He whispered back: "I won't say it — they 
 cussed father." 
 
 His mother repeated it again, but no word 
 fell from his lips, and she said: "Benny, say 
 the words— the Lord says, 'Pray for your en- 
 emies.' " 
 
 But Benny screwed about upon his knees, 
 and shoved his forehead and nose harder down 
 on the chair, and said nothing. 
 
 Joe shook him, and said: "Benny, why 
 don't you say what mother wants you to say ? 
 Can't you hear her? " 
 
 " Yes," he softly replied, " co'se I hears, but 
 I won't say them words. I tell you they cussed 
 
IS Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 father, aucl they cussed at her. I won't pray 
 fur 'em." 
 
 She heard the by-play and passed on to 
 •other petitions, Benny's sprightly voice at 
 once responding; but after the amen was said, 
 he looked about quite ruefully till he nodded, 
 when she led him to his bed and arranged the 
 covering about him, and kissed him. 
 
CHAPTEt^ II. 
 
 A Flame Shot up Into the Clouds. 
 
 JOE and Edna also were presently abed, and 
 Mrs. Donal sat alone watching the live 
 coals melting into ashes on the hearth, wist- 
 fully thinking whither to go and how. The 
 more she thought the less plain the way ap- 
 peared, for her thoughts were tangled with 
 fears and soft sentiments, till her future seemed 
 like a drear waste of liorrible sights and sounds, 
 through which no path led. Sleep had scarcely 
 closed her eyes ere morning awoke her to face 
 her troubles, and she went down to the spring 
 for Avater before making the fire to cook the 
 simple breakfast. 
 
 The sun was already flooding the mountains 
 with light, and pouring streams of warming 
 rays into the cool valley, and the birds were 
 filling the woods with the songs she had heard 
 in her untroubled childhood. She lingered at 
 the fountain a few moments, and as she looked 
 
 (19) 
 
20 Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 and listened she was startled by a rudely clad 
 man stepping into^view near her, as he said: 
 " Excuse me; are you not the wife of the Con- 
 federate Captain Donal?" 
 
 " I am, sir," she replied; and there was an 
 anxious tremor in her voice as she added: 
 " What of him? Does he live? Let me have 
 your message quickly. Do not say he is dead! " 
 
 " You may hope for the best concerning him," 
 he answered; " but my errand concerns your 
 removal. I have heard harsh threats of trouble 
 to you ere noon. I am here to warn you. I 
 am an enemy to your people — a Federal scout. 
 A few months ago I was prisoner to Captain 
 Donal, and was desperately wounded. He 
 spent much of his time when off duty nursing 
 me. I must have died without his care. He 
 is my enemy, yet in a good sense — my friend. 
 I know were he and I to meet now it would bo 
 a fight to the capture or death of one of us; 
 but were my wife in peril as you are, and he 
 was near as I am to you, he would protect her 
 if he could. I would that only men could 
 suffer in this war. You will find, a few steps 
 
A Flame Shot up Into the Clouds. 21 
 
 up the path to the house, a light package — it 
 is a trifle compared to what I owe your hus- 
 band. It may be useful to you. Let me urge 
 you to hurry your departure, and to get as far 
 southward as you can to-day. A few hours' 
 delay may bring about you unreasoning, mer- 
 ciless men who will destroy your home and 
 any means of removal you may have, and an- 
 noy you every way. Get away as fast as you 
 can. If they pursue you, I hope, unseen, to 
 turn them from their purpose until you are so 
 far beyond the river that they will fear to fol- 
 low. AVith the coins in the package you will 
 find a small medal. If you will show it when 
 troubled by our soldiers, and if any present 
 know me, they will do you any kindness they 
 can, not against Federal orders." 
 
 He disappeared down the jungly branch 
 before she could speak; and then she stood 
 awhile, like some daft one, watching in the 
 direction he had gone. Soon she was shocked 
 by fierce exclamations amidst Boone's harsh 
 i^rowls and the quick words of Joe, " Down, 
 Boone — down, sir; down, I tell you," followed 
 
^'1 Joe : A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 by a brief parley. She recognized the scout's 
 voice as promptly as she did Joe's, and knew 
 by its tones that it was peace between him and 
 the boy. In a few moments Joe joined her at 
 the spring, and said: "I missed you, motlier, 
 and came to see about you. Boone overtook 
 me. AVe came the lower path to the spring, 
 and as we crossed the branch in the hazel- 
 thicket we met a man that Boone didn't like." 
 
 " Yes, yes," she interrupted, " it is all right. 
 He is a Federal soldier, and says we had best 
 move away at once. Your father won his good- 
 will by saving his life, he thinks, by tender 
 nursing. That's like your father; no mother 
 can be kinder than he is to the helpless when 
 in his power. I hope you will be like him." 
 
 " The man told me," said Joe, " that he knew 
 me by my picture father used to show him 
 when he was a wounded prisoner. He said I 
 must tell you to be sure to go away tiiis very 
 hour if you can, because the bush-wdiackers 
 have sworn awful things against us before 
 dinner-time comes. They've robbed us o' 
 neaily every thing a'ready 'cept the milk-cows, 
 
A Flame Shot up Into the Clouds. 23 
 
 Het and ole Eed, that hid in the mountains 
 from 'em. They's meaner than the worst o' 
 the real Yankees, mother. That was a bush- 
 whacker that cussed so about father yester- 
 day, fur he wasn't dressed like the rest o' the 
 company." 
 
 Mrs. Donal made no reply, though she knew 
 that Joe's inference was correct, for she had 
 recognized the insulting soldier the evening 
 before as one of the desperadoes who had 
 plundered the house and farm a year before, 
 and she silently turned with Joe up the path 
 to the house. She quickly found the package 
 the scout had described, and placed it in the 
 folds of her dress. Happily there was no need 
 to prepare a breakfast, for on entering the 
 kitchen she found just within the window 
 bountiful supplies of provisions nicely cooked. 
 Some one had placed them there the night be- 
 fore while she slept— who, she knew not. But 
 it was old Farmer Prenant, she thought. He 
 hated the Confederate cause, as she and hers 
 loved it—with all the heart— yet loved her as 
 one brought up as his own child, for she had 
 
24 Joe: A Boy in the War-tinies. 
 
 been left to his care from early girlhood by 
 her parents when they went to heaven — one so 
 soon after the other — from the old homestead. 
 Many joys had she imparted to his old, weary, 
 rugged heart in its clinging to life and its con- 
 flicts with cares, for his own little girls had all 
 gone to the world of angels before she became 
 the playmate of his boys older than she - Hal, 
 Frank, and Andy. She almost knew the cook- 
 ing was that of his wife, old Aunt Hetty, who 
 hated nothing and put the sweetness of her 
 loving heart into every thing she did or said. 
 AVith the majority in that section of Tennes- , 
 see, he inflexibly adhered to the Federals in 
 the war, and his sons and property and influ- 
 ence were all at their disposal; yet he did much 
 to appease the mutual fury of the Unionists 
 and Confederates in that locality, for the peo- 
 ple conceded much to his righteous old age 
 and more to his superior sense and courage 
 and tried fidelity to his convictions. The fac- 
 tions ran mad there at times. They were like 
 houses divided against themselves. Trouble 
 and liate, loss and reproacli, if not dishonor, 
 
A Flame Shot up Into the Clouds. 25 
 
 and perils and death embroiled tliem on all 
 sides. They seemed to be tossed from woe to 
 woe by dissensions concerning the war, as 
 though Satan were tossing them from fire to 
 fire. Sometimes — perhaps he could not help 
 it — old Farmer Prenant made the strife fiercer 
 by bitter, hot words. Even the children were 
 at yariance, and their battles were far from 
 scarless, for rocks proved harder than heads, 
 and left gashes and bruises on the lads, re- 
 minding them that " Secesh " and " Unionist " 
 meant fury, not fun. Of course Joe's head 
 had felt many of the stony missiles, and Ben- 
 ny's head, that always liked to be next to Joe's, 
 had stopped not a few of them. Happily they 
 had escaped unhurt by the later mimic bat- 
 tles, and were ready for breakfast when Edna 
 called them, after the return of her mother 
 and Joe from the spring. 
 
 After breakfasting, the boys quickly yoked 
 Het and Hed to the cart which Mrs. Donal 
 and Edna were storing wdth things for the 
 journey. Farmer Prenant and Aunt Hetty, 
 descrying the preparations to move, came 
 
2G Joe : A Boy in the War 4 hues. 
 
 across the little brown meadow to the busy 
 scene. As the old man helped to load the cart 
 to the best advantage he wiped his big steel- 
 rimmed ''specs" much of tenor than usual, for 
 somehow they got hazy that morning more 
 than common, so that he could not see things 
 clearly. No wonder, for the glasses were be- 
 tween two mists as he helped the boys and said 
 the pleasantest things to them— the mist from 
 the dews without, and the mist from his eyes 
 within — and Joe whispered aside to Benny: 
 "Grandsir's tears jes' keeps a-fallin'; he's 
 a-sorrowin' a heap about somethin'." But the 
 old man busied himself here and there, and 
 when the cart was ready to start Aunt Hetty 
 feaid to Mrs. Donal: " Reeny, now Eeeny, don't 
 be downhearted, child. The Good One above 
 us all will take care o' you an' the children, no 
 matter what happens. May he give you, honey, 
 all th€ way you go, every moment, the kiss o* 
 peace, for — for — m — me, Beeny, as I give you 
 this last kiss o' blessin' to you an' to youre for- 
 ever. You're no dfirter on our'n, an' yet you 
 is our own dear darter, fur you was neai'ly all 
 
A Flame Shot vp Info the Clouds. 27 
 
 tlie time in our house ontil you an' Jimmy 
 Donal got married, an' my boys alius called 
 you 'Little Sister.' O Reeny, Reeny, tliem 
 boys will go mad an' blaze out when they 
 hears o' all this. When they took me in their 
 big arms and told me good-by the day they 
 jined the Federal army, they said: * Now, moth- 
 er, don't let any evil come to Little Sister. E£ 
 any hurt comes to Reeny, mother, w^e'U never 
 rest ontil we pay it all back, no n:iatter who 
 does it. She's a right ter be a rebel ef she 
 w^ants ter be. Bless Little Sister for us, moth- 
 er, always." 
 
 Reeny sat upon the steps and wept, but Aunt 
 Hetty held on to the porch-post and kept talk- 
 ing, and said: "But now it's come, child, it's 
 come — the evil and the hurt — an' I can't help 
 it; it cuts me to the heart to think I can't help 
 it, an' you so young an' sweet an' good." And 
 she softly passed her hand over Reeny's face, 
 and said: "Yes, you is good, child, good as 
 them as is the best; and ter think I can't help 
 you." And she stooped down and kissed her, 
 and trembled and kissed her again, and went 
 
28 Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 down the path home, taking Reeny's keys ami 
 eyes and heart with her. But as she was 
 crossing the little ravine in the meadow she 
 must have stopped to weep unseen, for E,eeny 
 did not see her clambering up tlie farther 
 bank, though she watched thither to behold 
 her again. 
 
 Old Farmer Pronant stood the while lean- 
 ing on his staff, looking from Eeeny to the 
 children and from them to her, essaying to 
 Bpeak; but he could not. Then he went close 
 to her, and gently pushed her sun-bonnet back 
 from her brow, and gazed down into her face, 
 and put his old palsied hands upon her head a 
 few moments, and kissed her forehead, and, 
 without a word, turned down the path after 
 Aunt Hetty. 
 
 Reeny knew the old man's ways by heart; 
 and that speechless good-by and the tears he 
 had left upon her brow Avere a joy and help 
 to her in many trials thereafter. 
 
 She spent no time repining, but clambered 
 into the cart after the children had taken their 
 places, Boone beside it; and, Joe giving the 
 
A Flame Shoi up Mo the Clouds. 29 
 
 word, Het and Eed moved briskly down the 
 pebbly slant, and the old home was hidden 
 from her view as they turned round the great 
 gray rock that towered up among the trees 
 and leaned over the creek. ^ 
 
 Several of the neighbor women spoke to 
 her by her Christian name, Reeny, and threw 
 her good-by kisses as she passed one and an- 
 other cabin on the road-side. Her heart was 
 BO tender and brave, her manner so gentle and 
 helpful to others, that even strangers soon 
 called her not Mrs. Donal, but Reeny, as 
 though they had knoAvn and loved her al- 
 ways. 
 
 She was over the river before the rougher 
 Unionists, across the spur from the valley iu 
 which she had lived, heard she was gone; and 
 they met such reports of Confederate scout- 
 ing parties ahead of them as they pursued 
 her that they turned back in haste. The Fed- 
 eral scout, who had met her at the spring that 
 morning, had no doubt helped to spread the 
 reports, and so saved her from their violence. 
 That night she camped upon a mountain- 
 
30 Joe: A Boy in the Wur-tlines. 
 
 side overlooking fields and woods not ten miles 
 from her home as the crow flies, though she 
 had come nearly twice as many to get there, 
 over the road crooking round the spurs and 
 winding along the gorges. 
 
 The children seemed to forget that they 
 were homeless in the excitement and new 
 scenes of the journey, and were merry round 
 the bright fire awhile, though Boone and Het 
 and old Eed went to sleep pretty soon after 
 getting their supper. But after teasing one 
 another till fun had lost its crispness, and the 
 prayer with their mother was said, they fell to 
 nodding and presently crawled into the cart 
 covered with two coarse sheets stitched to- 
 gether, and coiled down to sleep. She too 
 was weary now, but the darkened woods and 
 heavens had a strange witchery for her that 
 night, and she often gazed out over the som- 
 ber expanse toward her old forsaken home; 
 for her thoughts, mingled with tears, would 
 keep reverting to it. Soft voices, like the 
 music of rills in distant dells, came to her 
 across the nighted waste, whispering of the 
 
A Flame Shot vp Info the Clouds. 81 
 
 times wlien, lier dark hair a babyish white, 
 she learned to prattle at its hearth somewhat 
 overmuch she thought, and her mother's songs 
 of heaven Jiad brought the angels about her, 
 and she had waited in " the big room " Christ- 
 mas-eves, with eyes stretched yet sleepy and 
 blinking, to see Santa Claus come down the 
 chimney with his sack of dolls and things; aod 
 there had been her young motherhood. 
 
 No wonder the old, rambling log house, with 
 its shadowy rooms and bowers, held much of 
 her heart and drew her dark eyes, shining with 
 love, all the way across the stretches of wil- 
 derness and trouble to revel in its memories. 
 She lingered with her face toward it, untan- 
 gling memory's webs, and looked and looked, 
 seeing little else than the darkness, till mid- 
 night had come and gone. 
 
 Joe had been in a deep sleep ail the while 
 till now, when Edna's gurgling laugh without 
 waking her set Benny to talking in his sleep; 
 and Joe woke up, and, peeping under the cart- 
 cover, noticed his mother yet sitting at the 
 camp-fire, a star now and then gliding from 
 
32 Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 behind the clouds to throw upon her a shim- 
 mering mantle, then hiding in the clouds again 
 as the shadows thickened about her. He quiet- 
 ly joined her, and told her of Edna's merry 
 laugh and Benny's wild talk in their sleep, and 
 how well he was rested to renew the journey, 
 and how the Lord, he knew, would guide them 
 to a safe home. 
 
 She made bright replies, for her heart grew 
 glad because he was cheerful and full of hope. 
 So he stood a long while at her side, looking 
 whither she looked, silent when she willed, 
 talkative by spells. The mewing of the wild 
 cats and the barking of the foxes down in 
 the ravine disturbed him no more than the 
 chirps of the crickets at his feet, for his young 
 heart was studying how best to care for his 
 mother. 
 
 They lingered together in the vigil of the 
 night, love's peace making sweet the time 
 which hurried on and lingered not, when a 
 £§,int light shone in the far-away horizon, and 
 brighter grew and redder yet. Then a stream 
 of flame shot uj) into the clouds like many fiery 
 
A Flame SJiot up Info the Clouds. 33 
 
 rockets exploding together, and she knew that 
 her old home was destroyed by fire. 
 
 She had risen to her feet by Joe's side with 
 clasped hands as the fiery column painted it- 
 self in the far-off darkness, scarcely repress- 
 ing a cry to Heaven for a curse on the destroy- 
 ers. But in the^ moment she thought of Him 
 who said: " When ye pray say, Forgive us our 
 trespasses as we forgive those who trespass 
 against us; " and she stretched down her 
 hands to Joe's brownish head as he looked up 
 wondering into her face, and said: "God be 
 praised, my son! our old home is burned down, 
 but we are all here safe under the shadow of 
 God's wings." 
 
 Joe's fists were clinched, and his face was 
 pale and hard like ice, and his eyes seemed to 
 be burning, so bright and fierce they appeared, 
 as she said, " Our old home is burned down; " 
 but as she softly wept at his side the expres- 
 sion all changed, and he said: " Nev — never 
 mind, mo — mother! ^ye will build us another 
 by the time father and Uncle Jack come back 
 
 from the war. Beiiny will help, I know." 
 3 
 
31: Joe: A Boy In the War -times. 
 
 The words trembled from the boy's lips as 
 they fell upon her ear, but they touched her 
 heart all the more for that, and she quickly 
 repressed her tears for his sake. His mention 
 of his Uncle Jack, her twin-brother, had car- 
 ried her back to times when he was no larger 
 than Joe, and assumed to be her protector in 
 every girlhood trial. Till the war broke out 
 his manhood had been spent with her in the 
 old home, whence he went with her husband 
 to join the Confederate army. More than two 
 years had elapsed since then, and every time 
 she heard of him he was " knit to the soul " of 
 Captain Donal as Jonathan to David — " loved 
 him as his own soul." She could scarcely 
 think of one without the image of the other 
 appearing; and Joe's words had set her to 
 thinking of many friends who had gathered 
 ^t the old home in the days of peace for hunt- 
 ing excursions into the mountains. And as 
 she thought, memory called her to consider 
 face after face, till, pausing a moment at one, 
 she said in her heart: "It is the Federal offi- 
 cer who suppressed with a frown the profane 
 
A Flame Shot iip Info the Clouds. 35 
 
 bush-wliacker, as I stood in tlie door of the 
 old home that dreary eve before I left it. 
 Who is he? "Who! Ha, it is Mr. Merril, 
 from near Ivnoxville. Husband and he were 
 like brothers. How could I have failed to rec- 
 ognize him? He was ever gentle and consid- 
 erate of others, though brother Jack often 
 said he was always foremost when real danger 
 and hardships mingled with the sports. How 
 true it is that all noble men are not of the 
 same mind about this vfar! I am sure I shall 
 look with more respect upon Southern Fed- 
 erals after this, since such as he is one of 
 them." 
 
 And she was right. Because one does not 
 agree with us in opinion is no proof that he 
 is base or evil-minded. A just, good, brave 
 man may oppose a just, good, brave man, and 
 be as true and pure in so opposing as he could 
 be were he agreeing with him. It is only 
 when an opponent becomes corrupt and ma- 
 lignant that he is vile. True there are those 
 who are " hateful and hating " simply because 
 another is in the way of their purposes, will 
 
36 Joe: A Boy in tJie Wai'-timcs. 
 
 not be used in their plans, and does not agree 
 witli them as to men and affairs. But they 
 are, ahnost invariably, men of the baser st)rt 
 — swine-men, low natures, brave against the 
 fettered and weak. 
 
 Even a pure child will feel disgust at such 
 evil-hearted men, as Benny did when he spoke 
 in harsh words of those who tortured his moth- 
 er with harsh vrords and ways. It cannot be 
 claimed that he was right, for Christ teaches 
 the reverse. *' Whatsoever is more tlian Yea, 
 yea, Nay, nay, cometh of evil." Yet nature's 
 self cries out against ruffians in Church and 
 State, however well-seeming they may appear, 
 and grace condemns and resists their ruffian- 
 ism. The lad thought that such were " fit for 
 cursing," not fit to be prayed for. 
 
 That w^as a big toach of nature in Benny, 
 and bigger folks than he often need the touch 
 divine not to feel as he felt, and not to speak 
 as he did; for unhappily many, rich and 
 poor, are shabby in manners and principles, 
 in peace and in war. To forgive such is not 
 man-like; it is greater than that— it is divine. 
 
A Flame Shot up Into the Clouds. 37 
 
 Mrs. Donal more readily forgave than Benny 
 did, because she was wiser than he, and had 
 learned the power of the words of Christ, "Ask, 
 and it shall be given," even to forgive. 
 
CHAPTEff III. 
 
 Falling in with Grateful Enemies. 
 
 ftLTHOUGH Mrs. Donal slept but little 
 that niglit, slie was awake before day-break. 
 But soon the morning came. The pink and 
 blue and white mixed with the gray above, 
 then spread out everywhere along the sky till 
 in millions of rays they fell together upon the 
 mountain and rolled down its sides, shimmer- 
 ing on its trees and rocks, freshening, lighting 
 up every thing. 
 
 The children rose at her bidding, bright and 
 rosy, and, as they sported with the dew-drops 
 shining on the leaves, she overheard Joe tell- 
 ing Benny and Edna about having seen the 
 old home burning up in the night while they 
 were asleep. As their eyes opened wider and 
 wider while he described the sight, their chins 
 quivered, and they cried. He became much 
 distressed and angered as tliey sobbed, and 
 with slow, clear em^jhasis he said: "No mat- 
 (38) 
 
Falling in loith Grateful Enemies. 39 
 
 ter liow youDg or old I am wlieu we find out 
 who set it afire, I'll kill liim." 
 
 Her heart was pierced with an unusual anx- 
 iety by the words of Joe, and she said to her- 
 self: *' The heart-fires of the war are more 
 dreadful than all its material fires; both com- 
 bined are inflaming even children with impla- 
 cable rage and fierce purposes as to the future. 
 The life is wretched that is made up of re- 
 venges tortured by malice. For such a life 
 the acts of marauding bush-whackers, faith- 
 less to either army, are preparing the boys of 
 this beautiful section of valleys and mount- 
 ains." She had been startled as much by the 
 seriousness of Joe as by the threat itself, and 
 joining the earnest group she said to him: 
 *'The Lord is the great Father of all. He 
 says, * Thou shalt not kill.' If your father in 
 the war were to send you word not to do a cer- 
 tain thing, would you talk and plan to do that 
 very thing as soon as you could?" 
 
 "N — no, ma'am," answered Joe, "because 
 he wouldn't like it." 
 
 "So is the great Father above displeased 
 
40 Joe: A Boy in the War-tiiues, 
 
 with you," she replied, " when you plan and 
 promise to do the very thing he tells you not 
 to do. He says, ' Thou shalt not kill,' and you 
 say, 'I will kill.' I hope v/e shall never see 
 those evil persons who have injured us, neither 
 while you are a boy nor when you get to be a 
 man. Don't think of them. Leave them to 
 the Lord to judge or to acquit. You are much 
 like your Uncle Jack. He sometimes strikes 
 an evil blow before he thinks, and mourns over 
 it when it is too late. Now, while you are a 
 boy, wall in your heart from malice and hasty 
 temper. It is horrible to shed a fellow-creat- 
 ure's blood." 
 
 Joe was stunned by his mother's solemnity, 
 and wondered how she knew so well the re- 
 venge he had so surely determined to take, 
 young as he was. But she knew he was de- 
 scended from a hot-headed race, whose threats 
 were not idle words, and that the sooner a 
 wild impulse was forestalled the better; and 
 all the time she had been speaking to him his 
 young spirit parted with its hardness and hate 
 till the air sung softer strains to him, the sun- 
 
Falling in with Grateful Enemies. 41 
 
 shine seemed merrier and the birds' songs 
 more peaceful than ever; and her voice was 
 so sweetened by sorrow that he thought, 
 "Surely God is in this place listening," and 
 he said, quite subdued: " Mother, I will do as 
 you have said all my life, if I can. So don't 
 be anxious any more, please. I'm a foolish 
 boy to think an' talk of shootin' folks, but I 
 do feel like it when they treat us so bad." 
 
 They were not quite ready to journey from 
 the camp when round the rock-faced spur not 
 two hundred yards ahead of them a company 
 of horsemen dashed. They were Federals, 
 and were soon all around them, prying into 
 the cart and every nook of bushes and rocks, 
 as though in quest of a Confederate soldier. 
 
 Mrs. Donal stood grasping the side of the 
 cart, while Benny and Edna held to her skirts; 
 and Joe clung to Boone, who seemed deter- 
 mined to bite the horses or their riders, or 
 both ; and Joe knew that neither Boone nor he 
 was in good fighting trim about then. 
 
 The men proved to be a Federal troop of 
 Kentuckians reconnoitering, and soon grouped 
 
42 Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 about the family as the captain approached 
 Mrs. Donal, and said: "Madam, Avhat has be- 
 come of the man having care of you? You 
 ceitainly are not traveling alone with these 
 children and so poor an outfit in so Avild a 
 country. Give account of yourself." 
 
 " Sir," she answered, *' I am alone with these 
 children. I am the wife of Captain Donal, of 
 the Confederate army. I was driven from 
 home yesterday by your people, after they 
 had from time to time plundered me of many 
 things, and all my stock save these cows, 
 which they failed to get because they had 
 wandered into a hidden, unfrequented dell. 
 And last night from this camp I saw my 
 home burned down." 
 
 "And where are you going now?" he asked. 
 
 "Southward," she replied, "until I find my 
 people somewhere, to wait among them until 
 the war is over." 
 
 "And where do yoar people live? Your 
 relatives?" 
 
 " Not relatives. I mean Confederate peo- 
 l)le," she said. 
 
Falling in with Grateful Enemies. 43 
 
 Here a burly soldier, with burning oaths, 
 v/ished them all at the bad. But the inter- 
 ruption was unnoticed save by a quick gesture 
 of the officer, when the man drew away to the 
 outskirts of the troop, and the captain said: 
 " Confederates, eh ? But defeat pursues them 
 everywhere. We shall soon overrun and oc- 
 cupy the whole country." 
 
 She made no reply, and he thought for a 
 few moments, and then added: "You may be 
 shrewdly misleading us, as women of youi 
 party are apt in doing. With all your seem- 
 ing frankness you may be a spy or a messen- 
 ger with important papers. Hand to me what- 
 ever papers you have." 
 
 " I have none," she answered. 
 
 "Very well," he curtly said; "you shall be 
 closely searched." And he bade two soldiers 
 to proceed with the task. 
 
 She said: "They will find nothing of the 
 kind on my person or in the cart. I am no 
 spy; am bearing no message, oral or written, 
 though if I could I would aid my people." 
 And thinking of the scout's medal and of his 
 
44 Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 directions concerning it, she handed it to him, 
 saying: "But before you enforce your order, 
 please look at that." 
 
 He turned it about and scanned it, saying: 
 " AVell, madam, what of it? I know nothing 
 of it. It seems only a worthless piece of bright 
 metah" 
 
 Before she could answer, a man in citizen's 
 dress pressed forward and, examining the 
 medal eagerly, whispered a fcAV words to the 
 officer. His face bore a sterner look as he 
 said: "On your life, tell me of this trinket 
 the truth quickly— and the truth. Do you un- 
 derstand? " And he riveted his eyes upon her 
 face. 
 
 *' My habit," she answered, " is to tell the 
 truth, though it appears you are pleased to 
 doubt it." 
 
 His face flushed, and he slightly bowed, 
 saying: "Alas, madam! war is a fiend. It 
 makes one ungallant, but I listen to you." 
 
 She narrated the facts already known to the 
 reader concerning the trinket. 
 
 " Describe the man who gave you the trink- 
 
Falling in with Grateful Enemies. 45 
 
 et," he ordered; and as she obeyed, the person 
 who had scrutinized the trinket and whispered 
 to the captain dismounted and, with three 
 others clad much like him, came anxiously- 
 near her and watched every expression of her 
 face and eyes, as if hunting for precious life. 
 
 She said: "He is of average height, rather 
 slender, hair not red, yet reddish, eyes blue, 
 dress much like that worn by these persons 
 nearest me, fair skin, face angular, no beard, 
 voice very distinct — rather fine than coarse — 
 a scar across the upper forehead nearly all the 
 way, a few little dark splotches here and there 
 upon it." 
 
 " His name? " he demanded. 
 
 "I do not know his name," she replied. 
 
 Before she could speak more, one of the 
 four scouts exclaimed: "Tell us, upon wom- 
 an's troth to a friend or foe that has come be- 
 tween her and ruin, is the man you describe 
 realhj alive? " 
 
 There was one of those awesome hushes on 
 the group which now and then happens when 
 interest in an answer is a stifling hope and 
 
4G Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 dread; and, catching the impassioned feelings 
 she cheerily said: " He was alive and well yes- 
 terday morning at this hour, and I pray God 
 no harm has happened to him since." 
 
 The men looked wonderingly into one an- 
 other's eyes, and into hers again, as the officer 
 said: " Madam, you trifle with ns. The man 
 you describe has been dead three or four 
 months." 
 
 "As truly," she earnestly replied, " as I pray 
 day and night for my husband's life to be pre- 
 served, and for the Confederate cause in this 
 fierce w^ar, all I have said to you is true — that 
 man was alive, and kind and bold and strong, 
 yesterday at this hour." 
 
 The scouts were convinced, and together 
 cried: " We believe she speaks the truth, com- 
 rades. Strang is ]iot dead, but lives." 
 
 The whole troop caught the joy of the scouts, 
 and, gathering as near the cart as possible, 
 they astonished Mrs. Donal with round after 
 round of cheering. Benny and Edna clung 
 closer to her, but Joe bounded in front of her, 
 and clubbing his whip, looked angrily froir. 
 
Falling in with Grateful Enemies. 47 
 
 one to another, which set them to cheering 
 again. 
 
 "Boys," said the soldier nearest him, " thar's 
 grit here, rale ole Tennessee grit— blamed e£ 
 his left-hand an't got a rock in it, while t'other 
 grips his whipstock." 
 
 They cheered the boy as they drew away 
 from the family, while the captain returned 
 to her the medal, saying: "Madam, you are 
 at liberty to move on at your pleasure. I 
 hope we have not inexcusably distressed you. 
 We thank you for the assurance yon give us 
 that the scout we thought was dead is verily 
 alive. He is worth a wdiole comi)any to the 
 Federals." 
 
 The troop moved on down the mountain 
 northward, and within a few hundred yards 
 were joined by a slightly-built, lithe man, 
 around whom they pressed with joyful greet- 
 ings, and the captain exclaimed: "Halloo, 
 Strang! Sight of you is like the joy of vic- 
 tory. "We have just learned that you were 
 living — not dead, as we had heard." 
 
 "You owe the joy," he replied, "not so 
 
48 Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 much to a little dash I made into the wild- 
 wood, under difficulties, as to the good nurs- 
 ing of my captor. Knules, there, saw me in 
 the enemy's camp dying, as all thought; but I 
 was pulled back to life by the tireless care of 
 as true a Eebel as ever warred against Fed- 
 erals—Captain Donal. He seemed to think 
 that as his bullet tumbled me, his heart and 
 hand could save me; and I think they did. I 
 am almost as hardy as ever — ready for any 
 venture to bring triumph to the old flag." 
 
 " Yon woman at the cart next the overhang- 
 ing rocks," said the captain, " says she is 
 Captain Donal's wife, and saw you yesterday 
 morning." 
 
 *'So she did, so she did," he rejoined; "for 
 as I was threading the mountains on my er- 
 rand I overheard a band of local bush-whack- 
 ers, who are a disgrace to the old flag, discuss- 
 ing a plan to meanly annoy her; and as she 
 was to be sent away by the military in a day 
 or two, I warned lier to move at once. I am 
 glad I helped the dove to escape the hell- 
 kites. I hope you did not molest Iier." 
 
Falling in icith Grateful Enemies. 49 
 
 "But little," he replied. "I think when 
 Knoles and his comrade-scouts had recog- 
 nized your medal, and believed her story of 
 its gift to her by you, they would have fought 
 the whole troop in her protection. But what 
 brings you into this vicinity? " 
 
 "As I am not ready to be shot for revealing 
 secret orders," Strang answered, " I must re- 
 fer that query to head-quarters; but under cov- 
 er, I heard from two scared old men hurrying 
 along a trail the other side of the spur that at 
 least five thousand blue-coats were marching 
 on this side, and I crossed over to see the joy- 
 ful sight. The old fellows had a 'grapevine 
 dispatch,' it seems; for you are less than the 
 number they were 'skedaddling' from, by at 
 least forty-nine hundred, I should say." 
 
 " Why not have arrested and brought them 
 with you?" asked the captain; "might have 
 gained some information, or at least some fun 
 from them." 
 
 "As well arrest death," he answered; "only 
 they looked too old to die; no young men visi- 
 ble in these parts nowadays — all in one or 
 
50 Joe: A Bnu in fhr War-times. 
 
 the other army, or dodging both. But what 
 occasioned the hubbub in the troop just now? " 
 
 "AYhy," interposed the scout Knoles, "we 
 thought you were certainly dead, and buried 
 without the honors of war until we met yon- 
 der Mrs. Donal; and when she convinced us 
 that you were not in Tophet, but were safe 
 yet from the devil and his good friend Johnny 
 Eeb, we took on a little— that's all. But tell us 
 how you are here instead of in a Eeb prison." 
 
 " One happy night," he said, " after I was al- 
 most as well as ever, and was being transferred 
 to another prison — had been moved from place 
 to i)lace several times before — I eluded the 
 guard and fled for the mountains. I made 
 good speed to the general commanding our 
 forces, and was furloughed for twenty days. 
 I was not long crossing Kentucky into Ohio; 
 and when I left home two weeks ago, my wife 
 said: * Now, Mai Strang, don't ever shoot that 
 Captain Donal. When he is captured have 
 him sent to the prison nearest our home, that 
 I may see he wants for nothing. Do 3^ou hear, 
 Mai?' 'Yes,' I said. 'But what if he won't 
 
Falling in icith Grateful Enemies. 51 
 
 be captured, and gets to filling me with bul- 
 lets again Avliile I'm trying to take liim — what 
 then? ' ' AYhy, then, then,' she said, ' why then 
 you just walk away.' " 
 
 "To be plugged in the back with minie- 
 balls," suggested Knoles; and they were mer- 
 ry at the good wife's simplicity concerning 
 battles, though they rejoiced too at her beau- 
 tiful gratitude to the enemy who had saved 
 her husband's life by tender care of him 
 when ready to perish with desperate wounds. 
 
 And this is strange and great — the heart 
 forgets grave injuries in the glory of tender 
 deeds. That Ohio wife would not resentfully 
 recall that her husband had been nearly slain 
 by the Confederate, because the memory that 
 he had been nursed back to life by him flooded 
 her heart with sweetness; the gentle deed was 
 mightier than the harsh one. Such deeds are 
 usually allied to the best type of courage. 
 
 The black cloud, lit up with lightning and 
 aroar with thunder, is charming, and we run 
 from hill to hill in the rain-flood to get the 
 best view of it. To stand upon a groaning 
 
52 Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 sliip far out at sea, clinging to its rigging, to 
 see the clouds burst upon the deep and pour 
 upon billow and breaker their awful thunder 
 and whole horizons of lightning, is delightful; 
 but more impressive still is the peaceful mount- 
 ain arched by the sky, that lets the storms 
 war about it till they are exhausted, and stands 
 as restful afterward as before, nor scolds nor 
 boasts — only holds firm, softening climes; in 
 its depths costly gems, on its sides vast areas 
 of wood and rock, and coal and iron, to bless 
 man; never enacting a fiery scene till a cor- 
 rupt Pompeii compels it, and endures and 
 waits, and hopes that Pompeii will do better 
 and live. 
 
 Not the violence of commotion, not the 
 threat of ruin, but the gentle ministries of 
 that which is peaceful and abiding, like the 
 courage of Christ, bring great blessings to 
 man. No wrongs could irritate him, no dan- 
 gers alarm him, and no griefs could over- 
 whelm him. Tranquil in the midst of tu 
 mults, love was enthroned in his heart, and 
 presided over all his actions. He uttered no 
 
Falling in icith Grateful Enemies. 53 
 
 words of anger, he performed no deeds of 
 vengeance. His was the conscious repose of 
 power, the peaceful quiet of virtuous inno- 
 cence. 
 
 The troop presently resumed their march, 
 disappearing in the dark gorge at the mount' 
 ain's base. As Mrs. Donal's nerves had been 
 tortured by the interview with them, she tar- 
 ried some minutes to grow quiet in the hush 
 that fell around her as they disappeared, he^ 
 fore renewing her journey. 
 
 Het and Eed had long concluded that all 
 the fuss meant nothing, as it brought them no 
 clover, and had lain down by the cart-tongue, 
 chewing their cud. Boone went to licking 
 Joe's hands, Avith a dab now and then at his 
 face, while Benny and Edna alternately petted 
 their mother and the cows, or gathered ferns 
 and broad-leaved grasses among the rocks. 
 
CHAPTEf^ IV. 
 Joe said, "On, Boone, on!" 
 
 WELL, cliildren," said Mrs. Donal, "the 
 sun is high above the summit, so let's 
 begin the day's journey." 
 
 They were soon seated in the cart, and at 
 Joe's chick and " waw, here " the cows gave a 
 pull against the yoke, and away they rolled. 
 When they got into smoother roads, Benny 
 and Edna chatted merrily of the soldiers and 
 horses, and of the way Boone did when they 
 got too close to him, and Edna said: "The 
 cussin' soldiers is the ugliest; and, Benny, 
 you cussed 'most like 'em, but they's the ugli- 
 est," 
 
 That " cussed 'most like 'em " arrested their 
 mother's attention, and she quickly said : " No, 
 Edna, your brother didn't use bad words; he 
 behaved very nicely." 
 
 "Yes, mother," she replied, "Benny did^ at 
 
 the house, when th(^ Unionists said bad words 
 (51) 
 
Joe said, ^^On, Boone, otiT' 55 
 
 about you and father, and you were crying 
 after they had gone away." 
 
 By this time Benny had raised the cart- 
 cover next to him, and was looking out very 
 intently at the trees, and trying to get up a 
 talk with Boone trotting by the cows. 
 
 Smiles dimpled his mother's cheeks as she 
 noticed his way about Edna's report, and she 
 regretted to believe that the oaths so common 
 in the war were tainting even the simple lan- 
 guage and heart of childhood, and she said: 
 " Well, well, Benny ; we will forget those bad 
 men and their vile words. I am glad my lit- 
 tle boy despises their ways. He will never 
 do as they did, I know; and I will trust him 
 never to use again the words of the wicked." 
 
 At that saying he drew in his head again 
 quickly, and said: *'I won't, mother; I will 
 not if I ca — can hel — help it, but I must help 
 brother Joe." 
 
 *' How help him? " she asked. 
 
 *' Why," he replied, " brother Joe said yis- 
 teddy, when we was yokin' Het an' ole Red 
 to start away from home, that he'd shoot 
 
56 J(^', : A Boij i/i the War-times. 
 
 that braggin' man jes' as soon as lie learned 
 how to aim straight an' plum with a gun. 
 An' I'll tote the jjowder an' shot fur him— I 
 UL-e it." 
 
 As she hearkened to Benny's glib prattle, 
 Mrs. Donal recalled the Bible's words of the 
 "day of perplexity" because of the " spoiling 
 of the daughter of my people." It seemed to 
 her that the profane tempers of the ruffians of 
 the war w^ere spoiling her of her children — jew- 
 els above price — by imparting to them venge- 
 ful flames, and she said to herself: " That's the 
 second man Joseph, not yet eleven years of 
 age, has seriously talked of killing, and Benny 
 is ready to join him in the human hunt." 
 
 She could not discern how best to put out 
 the evil fires kindling in their hearts, molding 
 evil feuds there to blight their future, but she 
 quietly said: "Be like your father, boys, not 
 like bush-whackers. He never hurts any one 
 except to i)reserve a better life or to overcome 
 in battle for his home and country. When the 
 conflict ceases, he treasures no spite, takes 
 no revenge, but is kind to his foes. The 
 
Joe said, ^'■On, Boone, on!'' 57 
 
 road is much smoother now, so drive ahead. 
 AVe will make the best journey we can to- 
 day." 
 
 The children were cheerful in the instant, 
 speaking to one another of the big hills, the 
 bushy vales, and the rippling branches. Ev- 
 ery now and then Boone stopped and looked at 
 them, wagged his tail, and gave two or three 
 caressing barks, then went ahead again or 
 walked awhile under the cart ; and their moth- 
 er sung songs to them in her soft, low voice. 
 
 So they moved along until lunch-time came 
 and passed pleasantly by as they rested on the 
 sward in the beech shade, till the cows mowed 
 with their teeth a bountiful dinner of weeds 
 and grass, which abounded in the nook where 
 they were nooning. 
 
 Soon they were traveling again, and about 
 four o'clock, as they were going through a 
 swamp of tangled vines, with here and there 
 a few large trees springing from the bog, they 
 were halted on the ramshackle bridge, which 
 spanned the oozy stream, by several despera- 
 does who dashed upon the bridge from each 
 
58 Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 end — rifles hanging by straps to their sides, 
 revolvers in hand. 
 
 Mrs. Donal recognized in their leader the 
 abusive soldier in the scene Avlien she was 
 ordered to leave her home. Having learned 
 that Federal companies were safely scouring 
 the country along the route she had traveled, 
 they had ventured to pursue her, hoping that 
 in the scattered state of the Confederates at 
 the time her husband or her brother. Jack Bes- 
 mer, had joined her, and that they would have 
 the credit of capturing or slaying him. 
 
 When their eager search of the cart con- 
 vinced them that neither was present, they 
 were furious because of their disappointment, 
 and their leader said: *' We will destroy the 
 cart and brutes anyhow, and put the Rebel 
 whelps and their mother afoot." 
 
 Mrs. Donal, who, wlien she g(^t out of the 
 cart, had stepped forward with the chiklren a 
 few feet on the shaky bridge, did not speak to 
 the men. Her heart was quietly talking to 
 God in her trouble. Bat Joe, wlien he saw 
 them mnking ready to destroy the team and 
 
Joe said, ^^On, Boone, on!''' 59 
 
 Boone, said: *'Yon are mean. You are cow- 
 ards. Yon can fight poor beasts; but if father 
 and Uncle Jack was jes' here, you would run 
 like foxes to your dens." 
 
 As they flashed their eyes contemptuously 
 upon the trim, quivering, pale lad, they saw 
 in his eyes and posture the Jack Besmer of 
 their boyhood days, and they winced at his 
 taunt and the memory of the defiant spirit of 
 the boy's race. And as one of them poised 
 his revolver to shoot Boone, Joe said: "On, 
 Boone, on! " 
 
 The words were electric to Boone, for he 
 leaped like a flash upon his opponent and tore 
 him down, receiving but a slight wound in the 
 contest. And in the moment their leader 
 dropped as though dead, and the man next to 
 him stumbled and fell from the bridge, as tv»^o 
 rifles cracked from a fallen tree -top to their 
 left, and they fled into the jungles, the Avound- 
 ed making what speed they could thither. 
 
 Mrs. Donal, though terrified, knew at once 
 the best way, and, hurrying with the children 
 into the cart, bade Joe drive forward. Nor 
 
60 Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 did she halt when several shots Avere ex- 
 changed in the vicinity of the bridge, followed 
 by cries of pain in the direction the bush- 
 whackers had taken. Not a sound had been 
 heard from the rescuing party save the few 
 ringing reports of their rifles; and the family 
 hurried on. 
 
 Justin, a Rebel scout, had agreed to meet 
 old Tim Fortson that afternoon, living a few 
 miles farther south, on a trail across the crag- 
 ged hills which jutted against the stream at 
 that point. Having heard, as they conferred, 
 the rattle of the vehicle upon the rocks as it 
 descended into the swamp, and aware that the 
 country above had been open a day or two to 
 raiders from either army, they had sheltered 
 near the bridge to observe the character of the 
 vehicle and its company. Their precautions 
 were fortunate, for they did not see that the 
 bridge was ambushed until the bush-whackers 
 made their dash upon it. 
 
 Justin's first whispered exclamation, as the 
 family got out of the cart, was: "My God, 
 Tim! it's Cai)tain Donal's family." 
 
Joe said, ^^On, Boone, on!'' Gl 
 
 Each moment after that trembled with death 
 to some one, for they trained their rifles upon 
 the eagerest ruffians. The pointing of revolv- 
 ers to the beasts and Joe's ringing words, 
 "On, Boone, on!" were too much for their 
 fingers — triggers were touched in the instant, 
 ard the bullets whirred to their mark. 
 
 After making sure that the family were not 
 farther pursued, they ventured to their horses 
 wdiicli had been left among the knobs in charge 
 of Colonel Fortson's negro, Phil, who was a 
 sort of boss of the plantation, including his 
 master. Their horses were safe, but Phil and 
 his mule w^ere invisible. 
 
 "Halloo, Tim; what's become of old Phil?" 
 asked Justin. 
 
 " The devil is likeliest to answ^er that," re- 
 plied Fortson. "He's on a 'conjuring raid' 
 of his own I suppose, as of late he calls his 
 disappearances. He'll not keep us long wait- 
 ing, however. He's true to me as magnet to 
 pole, and has been from childhood; and is the 
 veriest Rebel in Tennessee." 
 
 " Yes," said Justin, " he's the life of the 
 
02 Jop : A Boy in Ike W<ir -times. 
 
 regiment when he is with the army, 'lookin' 
 arter clat boy, Mas Ned,' as he says. But I 
 must be away soon — wish he were here." 
 
 But a half-hour had elapsed ere Phil came 
 iu sight along the knob northward, and dis- 
 mounted near them from his panting mule. 
 
 "Well? " said Colonel Fortson. 
 
 " Yes, sah," answered Phil with slow em- 
 phasis. " I's abeen arter 'em — skelped de 
 maddest one wid a bullet Dem white trash 
 skeered fur true, an' some on 'em bad hurt 
 dis time, Mas Tim." 
 
 " "What do you mean? " queried his master. 
 
 "I watched from de pint dem rapscallions 
 you an' Masser Justin shoot ermong at de 
 bridge as dey turned on to de hills outer de 
 ma'sh, an' 'sued 'em sah, an' saunt 'em two 
 bullets ter pay 'em fur shootin' arter you when 
 dey dodged inter de bog. I tells you dey's a 
 trabelin' now, shore, Mas Tim." 
 
 "You great fool! they will hang you some 
 day." 
 
 "Dey no see me, sah; I kept close bchint 
 de clay-root," he retorted. 
 
Joe said, ^^On, Boone, on!'' 63 
 
 " You say you shot at them? " said Colonel 
 Fortsou. 
 
 " Tobershore, sah," he replied; " 'bleeged 
 ter, Mas Tim. AVhat I gwiiie say ter Miss 
 Kiali when she ax me ef I tuck good keer o' 
 you dis trip, ef I let's 'em git away widout 
 havin' a han' in de fight? She no trus' you 
 wid me no more." 
 
 " How do you know you * skelped ' one 
 of them, as you call it? Your old musket 
 looks rusty enough to miss a hill, let alone a 
 man." 
 
 " Mighty true gun, Mas Tim, mighty true," 
 he answered. *' Clean 'em good larse night — 
 fire plum, sah; an' one on 'em clap his han' 
 ter his head when I pull de trigger, an' spur 
 erlong faster down de hollow. I turns dar 
 an' come back in a hurry, fur I feared you git 
 mad a-waitin'." 
 
 The scout and Colonel Fortson exchanged 
 glances, and Phil caught to one ear of his 
 mule, and, rubbing him down with a pine- 
 cone, muttered to him: "Whar fur you puifs 
 so. Kit? You nebber trabel no faster den m^ 
 
64 Joe : A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 ober dem hills. I's not a blowin' none, an' 
 yuze j'ounger den me some, yit." 
 
 Old Phil seemed oblivious of the fact that 
 he had not "toted" the mule over the hills, 
 but that the male had carried him fleetly from 
 knob to knob. They had known each other 
 for twenty-five years, and seemed on the best 
 of terms till he pressed the pine-cone upon 
 his flank, when a thud was heard, and a scuf- 
 fling among the pebbles; and when the scout 
 and his friend Tim looked around, Phil was 
 picking himself up off the ground and catch- 
 ing his breath the best he could. 
 
 " Dah, now," he said, " dah, now. Little Tim 
 teacht ole Kit dat kick trie'. I's bin a-telliu' 
 you, Mas Tim, you has ter lick dat boy — he's 
 done spile dat mule, a-prankin' wdd him." 
 
 *' That's the way with you, Phil," replied 
 his master, repressing a burst of merriment. 
 " You put Satan in things yourself, and when 
 he breaks out on you, j'ou blame others. I 
 have sqpn you any day, since you got home 
 from the army, tickling your mule's flank 
 to have a kicking show for Tim and the 
 
Joe said, '^Oti, Boone, on! 65 
 
 little negroes. What did you do to Kit any- 
 how?" 
 
 " Nuddin' at all, sah, nuddin'. I was jes' a 
 curry'n' 'im wid dat pine-bur mighty saft, 
 sah — mighty saft; an' fust I knowed I was a 
 buttin' de bottom ob de gully. You needn't 
 snort at me, Kit; I gits you fur dat 'fore 
 long." 
 
 After some parting words with the scout, 
 Colonel Fortson rode homeward, Phil follow- 
 ing in his wake and contenting himself with 
 a few words of pragmatic caution to him as he 
 jogged on. He had barely time to narrate to 
 his wife the afternoon incident, and to arrange 
 for little Tim, his son, to meet Mrs. Donal on 
 the highway and conduct her to the house, ere 
 the scout approached the barn, and sent Phil 
 to notify liim to come thither. 
 
 The scout's story was soon told. He had 
 
 come upon a small band of bush-whackers 
 
 lying in wait among the hills near the homes 
 
 of a few aged well-to-do mountaineers, and, 
 
 believing they intended mischief, proposed 
 
 that he should aid him to foil them. He 
 5 
 
GO Joe : A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 readily consented, and accordingly informed 
 his wife that he might be detained on an er- 
 rand until midnight. 
 
 As the interlying spurs were mostly trail- 
 less, they declined to take horses, and set out 
 afoot in the dusk, but not without Phil's es- 
 pionage. 
 
CHAPTEi:^ V. 
 
 The Refugees Safe Among Friends. 
 
 MRS. DONAL and the children were flur- 
 ried, yet silent, for many minutes after 
 they had left the bridge where the fray hap- 
 pened. On and on they moved, over rock and 
 hill and splashy branch, fast as Het and Red 
 could pull the cart, Boone sniffing here and 
 there, and every once in awhile looking from 
 the edge of the woods up into their faces as 
 though trying to say, " ^Ye are all safe, roll 
 ahead." 
 
 And on they went till the san fell over the 
 ridge west of them, and the horizon was red 
 and low, and the birds fluttered to roost. And 
 all the way they wondered who had rescued 
 them, and could see the man weltering in 
 blood where he fell on the bridge, and the 
 man with his shattered arm tumbling into 
 the creek, and the one Boone mangled, and 
 the rest of them that dashed for the thicket 
 
 when the rifles cracked. 
 
 (67) 
 
68 Joe: A Boy In the War-tuucs. 
 
 They knew not whether to camp or -what to 
 do, but drove on till the owls hooted and the 
 darkness thicker grew about them; and the 
 children, scared by the night, sobbed, think- 
 ing of the fearful things they had seen since 
 they had been driven out from home; and the 
 mother's heart too was breaking down under 
 its burdens of anxious fears and cares. 
 
 As they were wearily climbing a long hill, 
 in the semi-darkness, they heard some one 
 merrily whistling far up among the soughing 
 trees; and wdien they got to the top, a boy a 
 little larger than Joe came forward a few 
 steps, hat in hand, and asked: '*' Please, ma'am, 
 is this Mrs. Donal?" 
 
 " Yes," she replied. 
 
 " My father, Colonel Tim Fortson," he said, 
 " has sent me to meet you. He says he knows 
 Captain Donal and your brother. Jack Bes- 
 mer, and loves tliem like brothers, and that 
 you must please turn into this cross-road, and 
 rest with us as long as you will. The house 
 is but a short w^ay off, and mother is at the 
 door watching down the road for you. Father 
 
The Refugees Safe Amorig Friends. 69 
 
 says I bad best drive if you will let ir>e, as 
 I know the road so well. I am little Tim 
 Fortson." 
 
 One gushing sob, and the long-pent tears 
 eased her heart of its overstrain, and she said: 
 "I thank you for the kind message, and for 
 the nice way you have told it to me. Joseph 
 can drive, and follow you as you shall guide." 
 
 But Tim had too completely won Joe's heart 
 for that, and he said: "Jump uj) here by me, 
 Tim, and we'll drive together." 
 
 They moved briskly toward the house, and 
 as they reached the yard gate a winsome voice 
 said: "Thank God, Mrs. Donal, you are safe 
 among friends ! Get right out, child, and come 
 in — been w^aiting for you, and w-a-i-t-ing." 
 And she put her hands under the cart-cover 
 and drew Mrs. Donal to her and kissed her, 
 and helped her to alight, and let her sob upon 
 her shoulders until Joe and little Tim had as- 
 sisted Edna and Benny to the ground, when 
 they all entered the house together. Old Phil 
 soon conveyed all articles from the cart to the 
 house, and sheltered and fed the cattle. 
 
70 Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 "Aunt Elfy," the darky housekeeper, with 
 a spotted handkerchief knotted about her head, 
 her checkered apron turned up at one corner 
 like Freemasons wear theirs sometimes, had 
 met them at the gate. Tenderly bearing Edna 
 in her arms to the sitting-room, and seating 
 her nicely before the coals of fire kept alive 
 to take the chill from the September night- 
 air, she vanished after saying to the sleepy 
 child: " You's tired ter def, honey, an' purty 
 as de star. You res' a little — I has supper fur 
 you quick as er wink." 
 
 Mrs. Fortson soon led her guests to the din- 
 ing - room, where an inviting supper greeted 
 them, Aunt Elfy vying with her mistress to 
 make every moment a pleasant one by a kind 
 of magic attention to each guest known only 
 to an old family servant. 
 
 An hour later Aunt Elfy had dismissed her- 
 self, for she entered the sitting-room as much 
 at ease as a princess, yet as really subject to 
 her mistress as her own thoughts were to her- 
 self, and said: "Miss Eiah, I's gwine ter de 
 cabin now. Mas Tim's supper fixed jes' right 
 
The Refugees Safe Among Friends. 71 
 
 at de fire-place ef you doesn't 'sturb it. It 
 oughter be kept warm fur him; dat's de way 
 he likes it. Ef I hears him comin' I'll come 
 fix it on de table all right. Ole Phil done turn 
 foolish as master is 'bout dis wah; he's alius 
 gone dese nights; an't seen him sence he put 
 de wehicle away. Have ter set up fur him. 
 Ef he doan fine his supper jes' ter suit him, he 
 fusses untel I's 'mos' crazy. I thinks, missis, 
 Phil done kill somebody in de wah, an' de 
 ghost a-hauntin' him. He's like doctor's horse 
 ■ — no quiet, 'specially in de night-time. He 
 alius usin' cuss words 'bout de Yankees, an' 
 says he gwine ter de army agin an' take keer o' 
 Mas Ned, fur he got no sense 'bout cookin' 
 ner nothin'; and dat's de trufe 'bout Mas Ned, 
 Miss Mariah." 
 
 " Phil has killed no one, Elfy," said her 
 mistress. "He is restless because he misses 
 Ned and the stir of the army, and so little to 
 do at home. He says he was half starved in 
 the army. Doesn't he get enough to eat?" 
 
 *' Nuff ter eat!" she exclaimed. "He gits 
 more'n master does, an' de best. 'Fore de 
 
72 Joe : A Boy in the War-times, 
 
 Lord, Miss Mariah, you an' Mas Tim clone 
 spile Phil more'n twenty years an' up'ardsi 
 I wishes you'd quit it ef I has ter live wid 
 him. Sence de wall come he's wussen ever, 
 an' de nifjcjers all say so too. Phil would bo 
 a heap better ef it wasn't fur little Tim," in- 
 dicating the boy that had guided Mrs. Donal 
 to the house. "He's alius hangiu' roun' him 
 an' totin' things outen the big house fur him. 
 You an't raisin' dat boy right nohow, Miss 
 Mariah. • You was heap stricter wid Mas Ned, 
 an' dat's de reasin he's de best. I done nuss 
 'em bofe^I know 'em. Little Tim, dere, heap 
 de wuss." 
 
 "Well, well, Elfy," she replied; "we'll do 
 the best we can. But when Ned's at home, 
 you are nearly always fussing at him and tak- 
 ing up for Tim. And if Ned would believe 
 you, he would think himself an imp. Now 
 he's gone wdiere dangers throng him, you are 
 forever telling me how good he is and how 
 had Tim is." 
 
 Elfy smiled at the last words, for in their 
 light she realized her absurdity, and she hied 
 
The Refugees Safe Among Friends. 73 
 
 to lier cabin, thinking how true it was that she 
 didn't know which she loved and fussed at 
 more — Ned or Tim. 
 
 Wlien Phil got to the cabin about mid- 
 night, he fouud Elfy waiting for him, nod- 
 ding in her chair, his supper nicely warm and 
 plentiful. She had brought it from *' the big 
 house," as she called the family residence, 
 and it was the same in kind, only more plen- 
 tiful than that she had " fixed jes' right at de 
 fire-place " for her master. He came rustling 
 in, and said: "Nigger, what you sleep fur? 
 Doan you know I's out ter night an' no come 
 in yit? I's hongry too; dis all de vittles 
 you's got for me? " 
 
 "It's a plenty," she answered, "an' anuff 
 fur two more common niggers better'n you. 
 You call me nigger agin I breaks dat woolly 
 head. Whar you bin trampoozin' ter ebber 
 sence Capen Donal's folks come, Phil?" 
 
 "You mine your 'fairs," he said, curtly; 
 "me an' Mas Tim tek good keer o' ourn. 
 You better look good arter dat lady at de big 
 house, I tell you dat. Masser Capen hears 
 
74 Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 you doaii, lie send squad arter you— mek you 
 tiuk de debbil got you 'fore dey done wid 
 you." 
 
 *'I knows folks wlien I sees 'em," she re- 
 torted, " an' I an't ast you 'boat no Capeu 
 an' no squad. I wanter know whey you bin, 
 an' what you bin a-doin' out so late ternight 
 You got to tell me too 'fore you sleeps." 
 
 "Ef I tells you, Elfy," he said, " you's 
 gwine ter tell it all ober ter missis, shore, an* 
 de oder niggers too." 
 
 " No," she coaxed, " I keep it clost fur true 
 ^jes' me an' you knows it." 
 
 "I Jes' know," he said, in a spiteful, trust- 
 ing tone, " ef I tells you missis done know all 
 'bout it 'fore breakf us. You tinks you gwine 
 die right away ef you doan 'peat ter her eb- 
 bry ting you hears an' more 'sides; but I 
 gwine tnis' you once more^ an' tell you. Me 
 an' jNIas Tim bin carryin' 'visions an' med- 
 'cines ter dom poor folks away below here 
 whose husban's in de Rebel army. Now you 
 knows, an' go 'rnun' a-tellin' it, an' have dem 
 Unionists a shootin' us fur it. Now lemme 
 
The Refugees Safe Among Friends. 75 
 
 lone — I's sleepy. But ef cbber you tells it, 
 you nebber gits de trufe outen dis nigger no 
 mo'." 
 
 And she believed it, and they had a sleepy, 
 peaceful night until day-break; but she had 
 told her mistress all, and more than Phil had 
 told her, before breakfast; and her mistress 
 didn't tell her it was a thorough lie, though 
 she knew it was, as you will see before you 
 read much farther. 
 
CH^PTEf} VI. 
 A New Experience to Joe. 
 
 AFTEE Aunt Elfy "dismissed lierself " 
 from the sitting-room, the children were 
 soon sleeping, but Mrs. Donal lingered with 
 her hostess conversing till near midnight. 
 The sense of comfort and safety was so hap- 
 py a contrast to the terrifying scenes of the 
 day that weariness and dread gave place to 
 delightful sensations and emotions. Though 
 wakeful as she, her hostess seemed at times 
 dreamy, then quivering with intentness as 
 though waiting and listening with apprehen- 
 sion for some one without. PiTsently she 
 said: "Tim tarries later than he said. He 
 has been away, too, nearly all the day. He 
 was here a few minutes before you came, and 
 told me all that had happened to you the last 
 few days, and especially about the affray at the 
 crazy bridge in the swamj), as you came along. 
 He and Justin, a Eebel scout, happened at the 
 (76) 
 
A New Experience to Joe, 77 
 
 time to be together on the knob over against 
 the bridge, and fortunately saw your dilemma 
 in time to interfere. He says you acted spir- 
 itedly and for the best all through it, and that 
 Joe is a gallant lad." 
 
 " O," said Mrs. Donal, "I am so glad you 
 have mentioned my rescuers! I need not at- 
 tempt to express my gratitude to them. Your 
 husband I shall soon know, I hope. Justin is 
 my cousin. He is a trained hunter. Every 
 chasm and summit for a hundred miles along 
 the mountain is familiar to him. The wilds 
 are his delight, and many a sheltering recess 
 is known to him whose approach is hidden to 
 all others. Nothing daunts him, and though 
 cautious and merciful, he is at times impetu- 
 ous as a rock leaping down the peak. Happy 
 the helpless ones about whose path chance or 
 a good providence brings him." 
 
 " So Tim speaks of him," Mrs. Fortson re- 
 plied; and, pausing a few moments with a dash 
 of uneasiness on her face, she added: "Some- 
 thing unusual keeps Tim out late to-night, but 
 I am getting used to such Avays now. He says 
 
TS-' Joe : A Boy in the War-tiiiies. 
 
 he hopes you will not journey to-morrow, if at 
 all; that the road will be clearer of raiders iu 
 a few days." 
 
 An hour passed in brief colloquies or long 
 spaces of silence, for each lady seemed more 
 inclined to thought than to conversation. The 
 one dreamed again and again through the 
 mazes of her recent experiences, and the other 
 groped, as she well might, along the drear 
 path of evil foreboding; for the enemy's lines 
 would probably encircle her home and the 
 family be in flight even if her husband es- 
 caped with his life. Bat presently she re- 
 called her guest to the present by a whispered 
 "S-h, s-h!" and they hearkened intently to 
 the footsteps approaching the house. A soft 
 patter, like rain-drops falling, called her to 
 the darkened window, whence she in a mo- 
 ment returned to ^Mrs. Donal's side smiling, 
 and said: "It is Tim. You shall see him 
 after he sups. Of late we lock up safely as 
 possible of nights, and he signals me before 
 he applies the night-key so as not to startle 
 me. He is old now, but overr(\idy, I tell him, 
 
A Neio Experience to Joe. 79 
 
 for a conflict with bush-whackers. He says 
 they are murderous, drunken robbers, who 
 will die by plague or violence ere the war 
 ends. I hope he is right, for then there will 
 be fewer grudges left to personal settlement 
 when peace shall have come." 
 
 By this time Colonel Fortson had supped 
 and entered the room, and his kindly words 
 and ways made them restful, and peaceful as 
 well. He no more alluded to the scene of the 
 afternoon's foray than if it had never happened, 
 but in response to his wife's request, gave an 
 account of his night's errand, saying: "Justin 
 and I have been *in hunt of a band of ruffians 
 claiming to be Federals. They rather are 
 desperadoes, under no orders except their own 
 wicked instincts — beasts of prey. We came 
 upon them at ten o'clock camped in a seques- 
 tered defile. I had told Phil on no account to 
 leave home to-night, but he had followed us 
 secretly, and while we were planning an at- 
 tack upon the ruffians' camp he glided to our 
 side. He gave me no time to scold him, but 
 said: 'Mas Tim, Miss Eiah mighty anxious 
 
80 Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 'bout you, sail, an' I tough t I better come 
 arter you to tek keer o' you. You gittiu' too 
 ole anyhow, Mas Tim, ter be a ventuisomin' 
 erroun' dis way. De night-a'r nips you 'fore 
 you knows it. Masser Justin, he loss you in 
 de woods — nigger know de way out by do 
 star.' 
 
 *' What was I to reply to such an argument? 
 but I said: 'Phil, you sack of soot! Your 
 Miss Maria has said not a word to you con- 
 cerning me; and here you are, haunting my 
 footsteps in the dark among the spurs like an 
 imp of Satan.' 
 
 " ' Can't he'p it now, can't he'p it now, sah,' 
 he replied; 'Miss Iliah safe, and nuddin' 
 hurt her, sah; de night-a'r nips you. I hears 
 you talk ter Masser Justin, a-liint de hoss-lot, 
 erbout dem yonder 'rauders — I follow you. 
 Musket mighty clar fire, sah — brung 'em er- 
 long.' 
 
 " There were but five ' 'rauders ' visible, as 
 Phil calls them. They had arrested old neigh- 
 bor Jillet and those two noted old Unionists, 
 McGrat and Center. Thoy had bound them. 
 
A New Exijerienze to Joe. 81 
 
 stripped them to the waict, and conveuiently 
 placed a supply of heavy hickory withes. 
 
 "Jillet seemed to accept his fate as a thing 
 of course. The profane abuse they heaped 
 upon him provoked no denial that he was a 
 thorough Eebel. It was the reverse with Mc- 
 Grat and Center. They averred their Union- 
 ism; that each had sons In the Federal army, 
 and sent supplies to that army every oppor- 
 tunity; were true to the old flag, and with- 
 out sympathy with the Secessionists — all of 
 which is true. They are as loyal Federals as 
 brave old hearts can be, no matter in what 
 section of the country they beat. This the 
 bush-whackers knew; bub thinking they had 
 much money hid away, (hey chose to class 
 them as ' Eebels dyed in the wool,' and were 
 proceeding to carry out their threats to beat 
 them to death with the withes, or until they 
 would guide them to the 1 Iding-places of the 
 treasure. 
 
 " It was a pitiable, angering sight — the shriv- 
 eled, good, honest old men, in the clutches of 
 those incarnate fiends. Th 3 twiggy brush was 
 G 
 
82 Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 thick between them and us, or we should have 
 had a good view of them in the glare of their 
 camp-fire. We overshot them likely, for we 
 ■feared lest we should injure the old prisoners, 
 and our aim was guess-work in the starlight, 
 even with their camp-fire to aid us. At the 
 crack of our rifles they fled to the cover, 
 amidst yells and confusion; and w^e heard the 
 rush of a sentinel toward them from either 
 side, and the rapid tramp of their horses down 
 the trail they had sentineled assured us of 
 their escape. We soon made sure of the last 
 fact by carefully scouting, when we returned 
 to release the old men. 
 
 " Only Justin showed himself to them, and 
 he disguised by gait and manner and voice. 
 AVhen he clipped the bonds of the old mount- 
 aineers they seized and tugged him about in 
 an ecstasy of gratitude. Old McGrat said, in 
 his blunt Scotch way: *Thar was more on ye, 
 my mon. They culd kom to the light wi' ye 
 safely, lad. Not a chiel, not a lass, in the 
 peaks but wad gie them warnin', an' shelter 
 them awfter this. Hey, hey! Ye, tharaways 
 
A New Experience to Joe. 83 
 
 in the lairs o' brush an' rocks, we are friends 
 to ye forever. Kom awa' to us, kom awa' wi' 
 us, lads! We must know ye. Ye are Rebels 
 nae doubt, but true friends for a' that.' 
 
 "The old men were bewildered and knew 
 not whither to turn for their homes, but Jus- 
 tin piloted them to their gates, followed by 
 Phil and myself unseen; and after watching 
 awhile to see if the bush-whackers returned, 
 we strode across the knobs homeward." 
 
 "Is Justin here?" asked Mrs. Donal. 
 
 "No," he answered; "Justin seldom sleeps 
 beneath a roof nowadays. His haversack was 
 well filled with provisions before we started 
 out to-night, and we had left the homes of the 
 old mountaineers less than a mile when he 
 turned northward. He bade me give to you 
 his cousinly greeting, and to tell Joe to kiss 
 Boone for him." 
 
 " The children will all do that, I am sure," 
 interposed Mrs. Donal, smiling, "when they 
 hear his message. Is he well? and has he 
 tidings from James, my husband, and brother 
 Jack?" 
 
84 Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 "He is solid as a bullet," said the Colonel, 
 " and in the best of healtli. He lias noth- 
 ing certain to report of Captain Donal and my 
 good friend Jack, except that little more than 
 two months ago they were more robust than 
 ever; and it was rumored then that their regi- 
 ment was about to be transferred to Virginia. 
 He thinks, however, they are still in Tennes- 
 see, but, before the battles north of your old 
 home, had been ordered farther w^est." 
 
 Even this indefinite news imparted to her 
 heart so much comfort that her cheeks flushed 
 and dimpled with joy, and as the clock struck 
 two A.M. just then she bade them good-night 
 and sought her room, where, with her sleeping 
 children, she found refreshing slumbers till 
 long after sunrise of the new day. 
 
 After breakfast little Tim and Joe went 
 down to the farm, which stretched out along 
 tlie fertile sides of the knobs, inclosing wide- 
 spread winding valley fields of ripening corn, 
 l)lats of stubble, and brown grasses. 
 
 The negro -cabins encircled two or three 
 springs bursting out of the hills among the 
 
A New Experience to Joe. 85 
 
 rocks at their base, and the negroes, in groups, 
 were busy here and there at this and that. 
 They had merry words for Tim, and several 
 of the smaller ones left off work as he passed 
 near them, and were soon wrestling with one 
 another or with him, tossing about like forms 
 of fun instead of bundles of bondage. Every- 
 where he was hailed with joy, and he greeted 
 every one with some saucy, good-humored 
 word, which enlivened all within hearing. To 
 them Tim's presence seemed like a gush of sun- 
 shine in wintery weather, and he moved about 
 among them as assured of their love and watch- 
 ful care as a prince among his body-guards. 
 
 It was a new experience to Joe. He was 
 not used to negroes. In his valley free labor 
 and white laborers had always been the rule. 
 No negroes dwelt there, and few had calls to 
 traverse its red stretches of grass and clover 
 and waving grains. Its settlers would not 
 own them. They allowed that right to others 
 nor quarreled with their preference, but to 
 them negroes were repugnant, and they re- 
 coiled from any contact with them. They 
 
8G Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 ■wore ingrained with the sentiment concern- 
 ing them: "Stand ye there, touch us not, we 
 are better than you." An abyss of race prej- 
 udice was between them. They would none 
 of them. 
 
 A nursling of that sentiment, Joe moved 
 warily among them, his cold reserve repel- 
 ling them where Tim went on with a careless 
 abandon of way, and i)leasant words that 
 stirred their warm blood till their hearts 
 bounded at the presence of the brave, loving 
 lad, as though a superior being indeed were 
 among them calling out the kindliness of their 
 nature. 
 
 Joe wondered at the seeming familiarity of 
 the Fortsons with them, and said to his moth- 
 er when alone with her at noon: "Mother, I 
 wish we could travel from here to-day. I 
 can't stand the negroes. They act like they 
 was white and owned every thing. If Elfy 
 were to speak to you as she does to Mrs. Fort- 
 t^on, oallin' her * honey ' an' * chile,' an' a-lect- 
 urin' her nearly all the time, I should hit her 
 with something. Tim frolics with any of them 
 
A New Experience to Joe. 87 
 
 jes' like they was white, and would fight for 
 'em at the drop of his hat. I feel like shying 
 rocks at 'em all the time." 
 
 "Yes," she answered, "slave-holders toler- 
 ate much in negroes which those who do not 
 own them cannot endure. Yet the negroes 
 reverence them, and nearly all of them would 
 risk life for their owners and families. If, 
 like Tim, you had been brought up among 
 slaves, you would allow them to share and 
 minister to your sports, and take arms in a 
 moment against any who would injure them. 
 Race antipathy more nearly borders the ex- 
 treme in you than it does in Tim. He says, 
 * Hitherto shalt thou come, and no farther;' 
 you say to them, * You shall not come at all, 
 but pass on,' as though your humanity and 
 theirs were shorn of every affinity, if any ever 
 existed. AVhen you know negroes better you 
 will like them more." 
 
 As tiie day wore on, and old Phil started 
 his show down at the horse-lot — tickling old 
 Kit to make him kick the wildest and highest, 
 and for very idleness getting the goats to 
 
88 Joe: A Boy in Iht War-times. 
 
 pair off ill butting-bouts, and otherwise to per- 
 form, filling every cliild with fun— Benny felt 
 toward him as Tim did. When he propped 
 himself up in a large feed-trough and told his 
 war yarns, Joe hearkened eagerly to all he 
 said, and was charmed with the spry, cheer- 
 . f ul, polite old darky, 
 
 Phil said, among other things : " I knows 
 yer farder an' yer Unker Jack, boys. Dat 
 Masser Jack Besmer mighty peart on trigger, 
 I tells yer. He no want no foolin' 'bout tings. 
 He laugh twil he cry, an' fight twil he loss all 
 he bref all de same. He knock er cavortin' 
 white man plum er'^ross de fire one night dat 
 hit me when Mas Ned no dere 'cause I tells 
 leetle joke on him. He no let folks bodder 
 me. I waits on him jes' like I does Mas Ned 
 whenebber I kin. But I's de only nigger he 
 lets fool roun' him much. Yer farder big- 
 ger den him. He hoi' himse'f berry stiff an' 
 stout-like. He mighty clebber, do'. Benny, 
 dah, heap like him. He got right black har 
 an' eyes — he eye no shoot fire at yer but wonct 
 'fore yer knows you's got ter be keerful. He 
 
A New Experience to Joe. 89 
 
 no let de niggers rollick roun' 'im like Mas 
 Ned do Avlien lie no tired much. De niggers 
 trabbel two, free nights huntin' tings fur dat 
 Ned, wliar dey goes half er night fur Mas- 
 ser Capen. Mas Ned no bin wid yer farder 
 an' linker Jack fur long time now. He git er- 
 long berry well in de army when he hab me 
 ter look arter him — git milk an' pig-rib an' 
 heap o' honey an' w^egertubbles. I's gwine 
 back ter de army, boys ; done tired er home^ 
 nuddin' ter see here. Wants ter see de drum 
 an' fife in cummotion, an' de soldiers a-py- 
 rootin' erroun', an' hear de ammernition er 
 whistlin' an' er screamin' in de tree-tops." 
 
CHAPTER} VII. 
 A Rebel Soldier Kissed the Coffin. 
 
 THE following clay Mrs. Donal was journey- 
 ing again, for tidings had come that her 
 route was free of enemies. 
 
 The heart freshens when it knows its path 
 lies apart from enemies. Their unreasoning 
 hates, their treacherous spites, founded on 
 nothing bad outside themselves, mar beauti- 
 ful reputations that, but for the evil seeds they 
 sow, would be as the lilies of God. 
 
 "An enemy hath done this," said Jesus, 
 when showing to the world a waving harvest 
 from purest grains hindered and damaged by 
 the broadcast tares. No marvel that Mrs. Don- 
 al's heart was lighter, gladder as she journeyed 
 farther and farther from enemies. "True," 
 she said, within her heart, " they will make 
 bonfires of our pleasant things when we are 
 gone, as they did my old home and its souve- 
 nirs, and pursue us thither and yonder with 
 
A Rebel Soldier Kissed the Coffin. 91 
 
 their poisoned spite, as they did me to the 
 swampy crossing; but we can leave them to 
 Providence, and hopefully press on in our life- 
 path." 
 
 And hopeful she was, as Joe drove forward, 
 meeting citizens on the way who courteously 
 forwarded them on their route till they pitched 
 camp to rest over Sunday in a grassy hollow 
 among woody hills, where a spring gushed 
 from out the rocks and sung along its channel 
 among the hazel-nuts and wild grapes. 
 
 As the Sunday morning wore toward noon, 
 an old farmer and his young daughter drank 
 from the spring and rested and chatted with 
 them awhile. The old man looked sadder 
 than is the wont of his class, and often ap- 
 peared like one dreaming with his eyes open; 
 yet a light played about his brow at times 
 that told of a firm heart that had done its 
 best, in joy and grief, wherever duty had led. 
 Much of the chat was of the war, and after a 
 long interval he said: "Sophie an' me hev 
 been over the hill to Tommy's grave by his 
 mother's side in the woods anent the old 
 
92 Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 church. My heart leaned upon Tommy. He 
 never tired helping Sophie, here, an' me. 
 Nothing good that he could get but that he 
 filled home with it for us. The war come, an' 
 he was for the Union, like me. Most of the 
 neighbor boys were Confederates. It wasn't 
 long afore Tommy an' them jined the armies 
 they loved best. He useter write to Sophie 
 an' me every chance, an' I hearn tell that none 
 fit bolder fur the old flag nor him. Only a 
 few weeks ago it was now, one morning afore 
 day, some Kebel soldiers rode up to the gate 
 an' hollered. "When we went out they w^as 
 gone, but on the little gate-post was a pictur, 
 an' under it was a scrap er brown paper all 
 writ over, like it were done with er scrap o' 
 coal. It said: * We are awful sorry to tell you 
 that Tommy was shot in a skirmish twenty 
 miles or more from here yesterday. He died 
 iu George Eoans's and Harry's arms; and he 
 said, " Boys, tell father and Sophie that I died 
 at peace with God, and fell at my post." *' Yes," 
 said Harry to him, "we'll tell 'em, ire'U tell 
 'em; and we'll say no braver, better man ever 
 
A Rebel Soldier Kissed the Coffin. 93 
 
 died for his conscience." "And," he said, " tell 
 'em to meet mother and me in heaven, for I'm 
 going there, going there now. And boys, we 
 are in different armies, but, if you can, bury 
 me at the old church next to mother, and let 
 father and Sophie know, and leave the picture 
 that's in my bosom with them; and, boys, bless 
 her for me, if you can." And Harry said, 
 *' We'll do it, Tom, or die trying." And Tom 
 left us, and looked like he was just gone to 
 sleep. And we've brought him to the old 
 church and dug his grave and left him on the 
 side of it for you to see him again; and one 
 of us is w^atchiiig there till you get in sight. 
 We have only tears and love for our old play- 
 mate, and w^eep with you over this great sor- 
 row of the war.' 
 
 "It had no name to it," continued the old 
 man, " but Sophie says it were George Eoans's 
 hand writ them words, sure as she's alive — 
 God bless him! But it were signed this way, 
 'Some of Captain Donal's company, with his 
 consent.' I don't know nothin','* the old 
 man added, "consarnin' Captain Donal; never 
 
94 Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 liearn afore or sence o' him. Bat whenever I 
 reads that piece er old brown paper, ah' looks 
 at the pictur o' Tommy's sweetheart them boys 
 took out o' his breast, with its blood-stains, 
 an' put it on the paper fur us, I say, ' May the 
 good Lord bless them boys an' that Captain 
 Donal, ter git home safe theirselves ef Tommy 
 is killed and gone!' The day was a-breakin' 
 when I got through readin' the brown paper, 
 an' mo an' Sophie hurried erlong the nigh 
 trail by the sj^ring to the old church-yard in 
 the woods over yonder; an' Sophie says she 
 see a Rebel soldier, when we got in sight, kiss 
 the coffin, er box, an' whirl inter the woods 
 quicker ner thought. Sometimes I thinks 
 Sophie knows who it was, fur I axes now an' 
 then, fur I wanter know; but she talks erbout 
 sunthin' else, an' her cheeks grow red an' pale 
 all ter once. But I think it must er been no- 
 body but George Boans, whose old widder 
 mother lives beyant the scrap o' mountain 
 from us. He's got the softest heart of all the 
 boys, except it be Tommy's cousin Harry, an' 
 he's bolder en 'most enny er the lads." 
 
A Rebel Soldier Kissed ike Coffin. 95 
 
 The old man rose up from tlie rock he had 
 been sitting on, and knelt over the spring 
 and pressed his lips on its limpid surface 
 and sucked in a full draught of its gurgling 
 water; then bathed his face in the branch, for 
 he had wept every now and then as he talked 
 about how Tommy's old playmates and ene- 
 mies had brought him home to be buried at 
 his .mother's side at the peril of their own 
 livfes. 
 
 Mrs. Donal had wept with him. She nearly 
 sobbed aloud for joy at mention of her hus- 
 band's name in the signature. She had gained 
 control of herself, though, as he revealed in 
 his narrative, without knowing it, Sophie's 
 secret of love for George Roans; and, woman- 
 like, she knew that Sophie saw another kiss 
 besides the one mentioned to her father — the 
 one thrown to her from the edge of the viny 
 clump by the soldier as he sped into the 
 thicket. And rosy Sophie knew too that she 
 had her secret, but it could not be helped 
 now; and the two women, though one was 
 nearly twice as old as the other, were closer 
 
9G Joe : A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 to each other by the loves in their hearts, aud 
 chatted teuderly and merrily enough too, till 
 the old gentleman came quietly to his seat 
 upon the rock again and said: "You haven't 
 told us who you is nor whar ye are goin' to 
 by yourselves— no frien' erlong ter care fur 
 ye. But we hearn you pray in' this mornin' 
 as we was a-goin' to see whar Tommy was dead 
 by my old Dottie, his mother, an' we turned 
 aside an' crossed the branch farther down for 
 fear we might disturb ye. I reckon the Lord 
 o' all is a-guardin' you in the way you go." 
 
 "Yes," she said, "so I trust." Then she 
 told him her troubles till the old man and 
 Sophie knew them as well as the reader does. 
 AVhen she showed him Captain Donal's pict- 
 ure, he rose up in the sunshine and looked it 
 over carefully, and Sophie eagerly examined 
 it, while he said: *'He 'minds me now of er 
 young 'oman I see years on years agone that 
 moved, an' I hearn tell married, more'n sixty 
 mile som'ers above here— her name was Hetty 
 Wells." 
 
 "She was his mother," she answered: "she 
 
A Rebel Soldier Kissed the Coffin. 97 
 
 was early widowed, so his training devolved 
 on her, and when she was dying she drew him 
 down and kissed him, and said, 'Tliat is for 
 my Lord and Saviour; I give you to him.' 
 He reminds me often of her in his ways and 
 feelings. He is almost a woman until some 
 rough extremity comes — then he is — is, well, 
 just Jimmy Donal." 
 
 "George icvites,'" said Sophie, "that he is 
 just lightning in battle." 
 
 Poor Sophie, she didn't intend to tell that 
 she and George corresponded — spoke before 
 she thought— and she stepped away quickly 
 and dipped some water from the spring, sip- 
 ping it rather longer than was at all needful. 
 But her father didn't notice what she had 
 said, for he spoke very promptly: "I'll be 
 bound Captain Donal an' George is kin, fur 
 I min' me their mothers was cousins, much 
 fcergither like sisterins." And he fell into an 
 untalkative mood as his mind got to wander- 
 ing back to the boys and girls of long ago, 
 and their faces and frolics grouped about 
 him. Bat Sophie, who knew and humored 
 7 
 
98 Joe : A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 ]iis every mood, chatted away quite clieei-f ully 
 witli Mrs. Doual, and toward uoon, with a 
 glowing face and heart, said: "Come right 
 along to dinner with us, and stay all night; 
 father will bring the cart and children. The 
 house is just across this wooded ridge— and 
 I'll send for George's mother." 
 
 " No," she replied, "I must not. It might 
 destroy the peace that is now between you 
 and otlier Unionists, and bring trouble to 
 your father. We will do well here by the 
 spring till to-morrow, when we hope by night- 
 fall to enter Georgia." 
 
 " O stay with us until you must go," said 
 Sophie; "we shall do well enough about it^ 
 never you fear as to that." 
 
 " We never hnoiCj' she responded. " Some 
 whom we can trust fully in good days forsake 
 us when the evil days and reproach come, and 
 turn against us. I must not expose you and 
 yours to trouble. Men of malignant hates may 
 chance this way at any time now, and woukl 
 return evil for courtesies shown to me — even 
 irritate your best friends with you. Army 
 
A Eehel Soldier Kissed the Coffin. 99 
 
 stragglers, and some liome-guards, often be- 
 come cruel to families of tlieir own party on 
 slight ijretext, and that you have sheltered me 
 ■would be a great sin with them." 
 
 Sophie stretched her eyes in wonderment, 
 and said: '* Why, here Union and Eebel fam- 
 ilies live in peace, willing that all should think 
 as they will, and are kind to each other." 
 
 " Not so in some sections," she replied, 
 "I know to my hurt; and the armies are mov- 
 ing south of late more and more, and those 
 bitter against me may, any night, dash into 
 this peaceful region — their hearts and hands 
 full of blood and flames. I must not allow 
 you to assume risks of hates for me." 
 
 Sophie, though not trained in society's con- 
 ventionalities, possessing much innate delicacy, 
 ceased to urge her further, but said : " We know 
 your army is pressed greatly since the battles 
 about Murfreesboro; and father says peace 
 will come soon, for the Southern army's hard- 
 ships and losses are too great for even the 
 most warlike to hold out much longer against 
 such very consider al^-le odds in every quarter." 
 
100 Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 Mrs. Donal made no reply just then, for her 
 mind was full of tliouglits of the adversities of 
 her people. However, her heart glowed with 
 fondness for their courage in calamities; and 
 well she knew that war's red wings should 
 hover over the land many months yet, filling 
 it with desolation. Presently she said: "It 
 is too true about the losses in our army of 
 late — the tide is all against us. I have not 
 seen my husband in more than two years, and 
 feared, till I saw you, that he had been trans- 
 ferred to Virginia; have heard nothing di- 
 rectly from him in three months. In the 
 heavy skirmishing of late he may have been 
 killed. Many messages came to me, a week 
 before I was driven from home, that he had 
 been certainly slain, and my friends are so 
 reticent about him it surely must be so." 
 
 As she talked her voice became moaning 
 sobs, and she broke down into irrepressible 
 weeping. Sophie quietly turned away into 
 the trail beside the branch and gathered ferns 
 and the few flowers that had not yet faded. 
 But in a few minutes she returned to her side, 
 
A Rebel Soldier Kissed the Coffin. 101 
 
 and giving to her the little bouquet, said: "1 
 ought to have told you sooner, but I couldn't 
 think just right fast enough. George was 
 here about two weeks ago to-night, and he 
 said Captain Donal was not far from Chatta- 
 nooga. He belongs to his company. You 
 may know he was safe then, or George would 
 have told me.'^ 
 
 Why, Sophie, Sophie; your heart is running 
 wild now, 'child, though you are trying ever 
 so hard to keep its secret! You have just told 
 tw^o big ones — that George, a hot Confederate, 
 and you, a Unionist good and true, have love's 
 trysts, and that he had been of late in your 
 neighborhood having soft talks with you; and 
 don't you know, Sophie, that when George 
 sprung, like a young mountain lion, to en- 
 list under the Confederate banner as soon as 
 it fluttered in the breeze, your father said: 
 *' That's the last er him so fur as you're con- 
 cerned, Sophie. He shall never speak ter 
 you agin while my hand can pull trigger to 
 prevent it." 
 
 Ah, Sophie did remember it all; but she 
 
102 Joe: A Boy In the War-tnncs. 
 
 remembered, too, that ever since the note of 
 brown paper which told about Tommy's brave 
 death had been placed by her father next 
 his heart he often said: "George writ them 
 words, lass — George writ 'em. It were George 
 that knelt down and kissed his coffin. Poor 
 George! he's a drotted fool Confederate, but 
 George'll do ter trust when troubles come 
 thickest, fur all er that." 
 
 So we will leave the pretty Unicnist, smoth- 
 ering her blushes concerning the adventurous 
 Confederate w^hile trying to cheer Mrs. Donal, 
 for some incidents await our narrative which 
 mayhap, when you read them, you will wish 
 had not been told. But how shall we get on 
 with the story rightly unless we tell the things 
 that are sad as well as those that are more 
 or less pleasant? 
 
CHAPTEf^ VIII. 
 
 Sounded from the Jungle. 
 
 THE niglit preceding the Sunday's inter- 
 view of Mrs. Donal with the old Union- 
 ist and his daughter was soft and beautiful. 
 The atmosphere and scenery in thq^ valley 
 where her old home had stood affected one like 
 a pleasant dream. Amidst the silence a man 
 above the average height, of soldierly mien, 
 by starlight pursued his pathless course on 
 the shadowy mountain, till he stood upon a 
 jutting ledge that looked down upon the nar- 
 row stretch of bottoms. His companion, a 
 younger man, and lithe of form, had paused 
 upon a fallen tree a few feet to his right, whence 
 he could view the dim valley to the best ad- 
 vantage. Both men looked out over it, this 
 way and that, in breathless eagerness. No 
 lights were burning in the dimly outlined 
 houses which, here and there on the valley's 
 bosom, looked like dark, low rocks. Neither 
 
 (103) 
 
10-i Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 of the men had spoken in the minute that had 
 elapsed since they hud taken their positions, 
 but both had agciin and again peered into 
 each curve and angle of the familiar locality 
 at their feet, as though imj^ressed by tho ab- 
 sence of a longed-for object. Presently the 
 first rubbed his eyes, and looked again just 
 abreast of him to some withered, charred 
 trees, and turning to his comrade their eyes 
 met, moistened yet flashing, and he said: "It 
 is gone. Jack; only the chimneys are there 
 among the blackened trees — all that's left of 
 home." 
 
 As he uttered the word " home," there was a 
 tenderness in his voice that touched his com- 
 rade's heart till he sobbed for relief, and they 
 sunk down together upon the sward under 
 the firs, and he said: "O it is base, base to 
 wreak vengeance upon a helpless woman and 
 children and a sacred old home for the pol- 
 itics of her husband! It is the vengeance, 
 the resort of men viler and more cruel than 
 beasts." 
 
 His comrade's pale face and tightly-pressed 
 
Sounded from the Jungle. 105 
 
 lips were the only answer lie received, and he 
 added: "Our journeying of nights and hid- 
 ing of days, through constant perils of life, to 
 see once more Eeeny and the boys and little 
 Edna, end in the ashes of the home we left 
 them in;" and, springing to his feet, he pushed 
 his comrade's head back till the stars shone 
 brightest in his face^ and exclaimed: "My God, 
 Jack! do you think they were so vile as to do 
 them violence ? " 
 
 "Jim," he replied, "Jim, you must control 
 yourself; excitement now is worse than death 
 to us; it will prevent our finding Eeeny and 
 the children. The old home is destroyed, but 
 none have yet been developed by the war in 
 these parts capable of the savagery that murders 
 women and children. Keeny is alive and un- 
 harmed, you may be sure. I have faith in her 
 prayers against Unionists and devils; we will 
 find her. Old Mrs. Prenant, though a poison 
 Federal, loves her as a daughter. You stay 
 and watch while I go to her house yonder, and 
 find out about tho burning of the home and 
 abo^it Eeeny. We shall have to fly for our 
 
lOG Joe:' A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 livos immediately, for she and her old man 
 will at once arouse all the country around with 
 news of our presence; but we will k)iou- about 
 Ptceny, live or die." 
 
 "No, no," said Jim. "I go to the house; 
 you stay and watch. There are questions that 
 I can ask, and must, that you will not think 
 of. I go." 
 
 They were, as the reader surmises. Captain 
 Donal and his wife's brother, Jack Besmer, 
 who with their lives in their hands had pressed 
 their way from the army at Chattanooga, 
 through swarming Federals and hot-beds of 
 Unionists, to look upon their loved ones again. 
 They agreed to rest a half -hour, and then go 
 together and awake the old lady and her hus- 
 band, to learn what they could from them. So 
 they stretched out upon the ground, and in 
 the dead silence of the mountain-side they 
 watched and listened, for it was seventy miles 
 to any Confederate post, and the interlyiug 
 country was infested by the enemy. The half- 
 hour had passed, and they were looking well 
 to their arms prei:)aratory to starting on their 
 
Sounded fr 0711 the Jungle. 107 
 
 errand, when they heard at intervals the far- 
 off tramp of horses. More and more distinct 
 were the sounds as the minutes flew by, and 
 Jack had just whispered, "They are less than 
 a mile away, turning Little Point now," when 
 but a few rods below them a man appeared, 
 carefully scrambling along the steep. His 
 course brought him so close to them that as 
 his familiar form shaped itself in the glimmer 
 of the stars, they involuntarily exclaimed, 
 ''Justin!" 
 
 He knew they were friends, or his greeting 
 would have been bullets, and, covering his 
 mouth with his hand as a signal for silence, 
 he soon joined them. 
 
 "I knew you were on a scout in this direc- 
 tion," said Captain Donal, "but thought your 
 ground was nearer the army. Here you are 
 in double peril; for though you have changed 
 your name and have been disfigured by face 
 wounds, and have assumed an awkward mode 
 of dress and manner, you were brought up 
 here; and months ago Jack heard, somehow, 
 that at least old Prenant knew you by your as- 
 
108 Joe: A Boy in the lVdr-f//nes. 
 
 sumecl name. Tell me, old classmate, do you 
 know about the burning, and any thing — ani/ 
 tliiiKj of lieeny and the children?" 
 
 "O yes, Captain," he answered; "they are 
 safe. They were at your old friend Tim's 
 house Wednesday night, over thirty miles be- 
 low here, you remember. He and I had met by 
 appointment, that afternoon, on a bluffy steep 
 next the swamp, six miles this side his place, 
 and saw Eeeny crossing the bridge. She is 
 as cool as you are in perils, and as brave as 
 Jack." 
 
 He then hurriedly sketched the fray at the 
 bridge, and at the close of his narrative his 
 listeners exclaimed in a breath: " Quick-witted 
 Reeny forever! Hurrah for Joe and old Boone! 
 and for old Tim and Phil! God bless you, 
 Sam Mills!" And they tossed him from one 
 to the other in their ecstasy of feeling till he 
 said: "That's enough of it, boys. That crowd 
 coming up the valley will cure you of this 
 softness in no time. There are eight or ten of 
 them. They halt every few minutes to drink 
 and swear, and to tell of the Secesh families 
 
Sounded from the Jungle. 109 
 
 they have plundered, and of the old men they 
 have beaten nearly to death on one and another 
 pretext. They are to meet another band of 
 home-guards like themselves, down there at 
 the spring, presently; so I cut across the spur 
 to hear their deviltries past and to come, and 
 to disappoint some of their 'to comes.'" 
 
 The midnight riders were now nearing them; 
 so, concealing themselves close to the sj^ring, 
 they waited for the gathering clan. The boozy 
 "home-guards" soon dismounted, and tether- 
 ing their horses fed them with sheaves of oats 
 they had stolen or forced from the rightful 
 owner, and met at the spring to await the com- 
 ing of the other band. Many l^oastful and 
 laughable stories they told — it seems that 
 even the worst men sometimes laugh— and one 
 said: "When we capture that cunning Justin 
 we have been after to-night, we'll have some 
 fun. Jake brought along his branding-irons 
 to fry him in spots before we riddle him with 
 bullets, ^he man that told us he had been 
 seen to-day in the section we have hunted over 
 can be relied on, can't he?" 
 
110 Joe: A Boy in tJie IVar-timrs. 
 
 " YoR," one replied; "and may be the follow 
 that met us iu Eocky Pass to-night, and told us 
 he had seen the man we described to him near 
 old Longley's about dusk, is Justin himself." 
 
 " Not he," another quickly said; " he is 
 drawn and limping with rheumatism that 
 keeps him out of the army. He lives on Will 
 Longley's farm as a protection to Will's family 
 while he is serving out his term of enlistment 
 in the war." 
 
 " Old Prenant," observed another, " says 
 that Justin is Sam Mills." 
 
 "That is a grape-vine dispatch," was replied. 
 "All know that Sam was killed at the Perry- 
 ville battle, and no mistake. Besides, Sam 
 would steer clear of this region where every- 
 body would know him on sight, and he would 
 know that ive are about." 
 
 Justin hearkened eagerly to them, for he it 
 was who, imitating Longley's tenant, had min- 
 gled with them at Piocky Pass, and had gath- 
 ered their plans and facts useful to Ihe Rebel 
 cause. 
 
 Having wearied of waiting for the tardy 
 
Sounded from the Jungle. Ill 
 
 band, one proposed to cross the spur and dis- 
 perse until morning. All seemed to favor the 
 plan, but, after mounting, they continued to 
 speak of those who were to meet. them there, 
 and one said: "If they have overhauled and 
 slain Jack Besmer or Captain Donal with the 
 cart, as they expected, they will be the most 
 . famous squad between the Tennessee and 
 Cumberland rivers. They were to hunt else- 
 where for skulking Secesh after they were 
 through with the Donals — that's kept them, 
 I reckon." 
 
 As he spoke, the slow tread of horses was 
 heard coming down the spur, and one and an- 
 other rode a few feet from the group and list- 
 ened intently, trying to measure by the sound 
 the distance of the comers from them. In a 
 few minutes the horsemen came into vieT>^ r.t 
 the valley's edge, and, observing them closely, 
 the leader of the band at the spring said: 
 "Men, death has been at work among them 
 —three missing, one with his head bound up, 
 two with arms in slings. Hallo, Bill!" he 
 exclaimed to one of the approaching riders. 
 
112 Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 *'liead shot off, Dick's arm bandaged, and 
 Jinks's too! AVhere are the other men? 
 What's the row?" 
 
 "Row!" he replied. "An ambush of sharp- 
 shooters; that's what. Captain Zeek died on 
 the retreat, and Jet and Ike fell in the swamp, 
 dead as Hector; and you see our plight." 
 
 " Tell us about it! tell us about it! " they all 
 cried, closing in around them. 
 
 " It's about all told, boys," said Bill. " We 
 headed off the cart on a bridge in a swamp, 
 thirty miles below here, but found neither 
 Jack nor Captain Donal. While we were 
 about to shoot the beasts the sharp-shooters 
 opened fire uj^on us, and Zeek fell shot 
 through, Dick's shoulder was shattered, and 
 Jinks's arm was torn by old Boone. AYe shel- 
 tered in the swamp, and returned the fire, 
 when Jet and Ike were 'mediately shot. AVe 
 aided Captain Zeek to mount, and less than 
 a mile from the point where we turned from 
 the swamp into the mountains we were firoil 
 into again, a bullet plowing across my head, 
 as you see. Captain Zeek held out six or seven 
 
Sounded from the Jungle. 113 
 
 miles — never see a man so anxious to live — 
 but lie died that night on side er the trail." 
 
 " Were you pursued?" 
 
 *' Guess you'd er thought so ef you'd er been 
 erlong about then. Ef we hadn't er knowed 
 all er the pig-ways erlong down thar, they 
 would er captivated us beyant doubt But it 
 makes another score to settle atween us an' 
 Mr. Jimmy Donal an' his friends." 
 
 "Friends? " queried the Unionist leader. 
 
 "Yes," he replied; " an' some on 'em is here- 
 abouts. The women is got it out ermong 'em 
 that old Prenant's wife cooked provisions all 
 night, an' old Prenant put 'em in the keert 
 with his own hands, for Donal's wife and brats 
 to travel on." 
 
 " Yes," said one, " an' put out er lot er lies, 
 erbout Confederates beyant the river, ter keep 
 us from overtakin' her that day, ter make her 
 foot it away from here." 
 
 "An' he a good Unionist — a ole hypercrit!" 
 sneered another. "Let's go dose him to-night 
 with erbout five hundred stripes, till he'll larn 
 not to help any more Ptebel hussies." 
 8 
 
114 Joe: A Boy in the War -times. 
 
 "Ho deserves it," said their leader. "'V\'e 
 can have no half friends now; Ihey should be 
 whole friends or die." 
 
 , " If Mr. Prenant," said a man apart from the 
 ci'owd, " is not two whole friends to the Fed- 
 eral cause instead of half a one, where will 
 you find a whole one? His sons are in the 
 army, and his fine stock are there, and he 
 spends all he makes to help the Federals there 
 and at home. He could not but be kind to 
 Mrs. Donal. She was, in a manner, brought 
 up by him and his wife; and she is a good 
 woman, I have heard, no matter who calls 
 her * hussy.' " 
 
 "Hallo! hallo! who's a-talkin' now?" re- 
 torted their leader; and addressing the last 
 speaker, he said: " You've been holdin' us back, 
 ever sence that army wound er yours have let 
 you be here. I'm a- tired of it, an' I say I'm 
 fur ole Prenant's hide ter-night. Come, boys, 
 let's fur him ter w^anct." 
 
 " Not until you kill me," said the army man. 
 "Listen to reason first, anyhow. He and all 
 his are tried and true Federals. His boys will 
 
Sounded from the Jungle. 115 
 
 kill the last man of you if you stripe him, if 
 they have to desert the army to do it. Besides, 
 the troop that you know met Mrs. Donal the 
 day after she was driven away are above here, 
 and may pass this way any time again. They 
 hate this whole accursed business of beating 
 people and distressing families; they Avant a 
 fair fight all round. It would be fun for them 
 to lose you all in the woods for it, strangled 
 on tree-limbs." 
 
 At a signal from their leader the angry men 
 bound the soldier, and, rolling him against the 
 rocks, cried: " Come, men, now fur old Pre- 
 nant!" and away they dashed. 
 
 " Not so fast there — halt! " sounded from the 
 jungle near them. They replied with a shower 
 of bullets, unluckily for themselves, for their 
 fire was instantly followed by an answering 
 fusillade of revolvers and rifles, and several 
 riderless horses, here and there, led the fran- 
 tic stampede over the mountain-trails. 
 
 It required but a few moments for Captain 
 Donal and Jack to cut the soldier's bonds, anc\ 
 as they did so Jack said: "We heard your 
 
116 Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 bold words for the lieli^less, just now. Spirits 
 like yours ennoble war, and are ready with the 
 bravest for the battle." 
 
 He had risen to his feet the moment bis bonds 
 were clipped, and, looking from one to the otli- 
 er, said: "I suppose I am your prisoner? " 
 
 " No," was the reply, " not so. This is no 
 fair capture. You will be at the battle-front 
 soon, so we'll get you all the same." 
 
 He smiled at their way of telling him that 
 he was free, but ere he could speak they were 
 hurrying to the covert of the cliffs. He did 
 not know how many were with them, but in- 
 ferred from the rapid firing that there were 
 twenty at least, and knew that he had nothing 
 to fear from them. Finding that his horse had 
 broken away in the fracas, he went across the 
 valley to Farmer Prenant's house to rest for 
 the night. The old farmer welcomed him, 
 and listened anxiously as he detailed the in- 
 cidents at the spring, but was very still and 
 silent for some minutes after the soldier's 
 narrative ended. There was a fierce, sad tone 
 in his voice when he said at last: **My b'ys 
 
Sounded from the Jungle. 117 
 
 is soldierin' at the battle-front, an' liev been 
 from the first — they is true Federals. They 
 an't been home gwine on now to three years, 
 an' them troopers tol' me Wednesday they 
 was true grit where the bullets whistles plen- 
 tifulest. When we sends them things from 
 home, we sends word to divide with the b'ys 
 farthest from their folks, an' with them that 
 has the moce onfriendliest time of it. No 
 Confederate has ever fetched me an' my ole 
 'oman, an' ef these 'ere kreeturs at home ever 
 does, it will be the sorrowfulest day that can 
 happen to them. The b'ys will git home some 
 day, an', i^eace or war, they'll hunt them 
 kreeturs ter death without my knowin' uv it, 
 if they's shot fur it; an' Eeeny's husband 
 would help 'em without the axin, an' so would 
 her brother Jack, Confederates though they is 
 all through. I wants no after-claps with me 
 an' mine when this war is done. But ef it were 
 to do over agin, beatin' or no beatin', I'd do it 
 fur Pieeny and her childern, and better'n I did 
 t'other night, ef I could. Eeeny's 'moce like 
 our own darter, an' ef I hadn't er done fur her 
 
118 Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 the best I could, them b'ys would er blamed 
 me fur it. They writ ter us in ther last letter 
 ter be shore not to let Reeny be 'posed on. Ef 
 them b'ys was here now, they'd speak to them 
 kreeters with mor'n their tongues fur the 
 way they've been huntin' down an' prosecutin' 
 Eeeny, ef she is Confed, soul and body. They 
 nat' rally hates folks that troubles women an' 
 childern, mor'n they does sarpents." 
 
 Though he paused and looked into the coals 
 that glowed on the hearth, the soldier made 
 lio remark, feeliug that it was best to let the 
 tried old heart work through the trouble in its 
 own way; and he went on saying: "I've been 
 a-wonderin' who them Confeds was that give 
 'em that sellute, an' cut the ropes offen you. 
 'Twa'n't no or'nary scoutin' party; fur they'd er 
 liked ter a-seen 'em arter me, mor'n likely, fur 
 I'm known fur and wide as a out an' outen 
 Unionist. It are the scoutoners that does the 
 height of the meanness on both sides. The 
 real scouts doan sliow therselves, I hearn say, 
 leastways not until they's obleeged ter, an' 
 doan go in bunches. I hearn sny Sam Mills is 
 
Sounded from the Jungle. 119 
 
 a Confed scout now under the name er Justin. 
 He went ter the war from this naborhood. 
 He's a low chunk of er man, straight as 
 * Ole Hickory,' an' quicker 'n a deer. Wouldn't 
 s'prise me ef 'twa'n't him cut you loose, arter 
 his men scart them home-guard kreeturs." 
 
 "No," said the soldier, "there were two got 
 to me same time, both rather tall and slim than 
 low." 
 
 "An' one on 'em stuttered jes' a little?" 
 queried the old man. 
 
 " Yes," he answered. 
 
 "I ventur it war Eeeny's husband, an' 
 brother Jack," he said quickly, " a-tryin' to see 
 the poor dear gal and the childern and the 
 old home once more afore their army's driv 
 inter the sea;" and his head hung upon his 
 breast as he went off into a reverie for some 
 time. "We shall never know all the thoughts 
 that soothed or stirred him then, but the 
 intention of the home-guards to beat him 
 with rods evidently disturbed him, for he said: 
 " Eeeny, afore them shameful kreeters of the 
 yearth killed up an' driv off her stock, uster 
 
120 Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 send the poor Union families, whose men-folk 
 was i]i the war, things upon things to help 
 'em erlong. An' she's done so latterly, though 
 her an' little Joe made the crap plowin' them 
 cows she druv to the keert t'other day. The 
 b'ys sent us word not long ergother'd be fight 
 arter fight enny time with the dratted Confeds, 
 an' Reeny hearn on it, and brought a pack o' the 
 softest, flossy things in little rolls, fur the ole 
 'oman ter send 'em in case eyther of 'em were 
 wounded; and the poor, lovin', forgivin' heart 
 baked er lot of things she knowed the b'ys 
 liked, for the ole 'oman to pack in the box we 
 sent 'em ter divide out with t'other soldiers; an' 
 yit them onarthly home-guard kreeturs would 
 er beat me nigh onto death ter-night fur 
 'turnin' good fur (lood to a'moce my own gal. 
 Stranger, I an't see you afore to-night, but I 
 hearn er your hard fightin' agin' the Confeds, 
 an' erbout your wound. I thank you fur them 
 risky words you said fur me an' fur Eeeny. 
 The b'ys shall hev them words writ down ter 
 'em, an' ef ever they kin, they'll sarve you a 
 good turn shore as the yearth gives 'em stand- 
 
Sounded from the Jungle. 121 
 
 in' room. More'n a week ago, me an' the ole 
 'omaii sent you word to cross the spur an' 
 make this your home ontwil you got well; an' 
 you sent word you was a-comin'. Now you 
 er here, you must stay ontwil you er ready 
 fur the front. Narry step must you go from 
 here ontwil then." 
 
 Pale and weak from fatigue and his unhealed 
 wound, the soldier said nothing, but let the 
 old man grope along through the dark and 
 tender things of the recent past in his own way; 
 for he thought of his old North Carolina Union 
 father all the while, and knew it was best to 
 let fond old age have its way in joy and in 
 grief as well. But he could not help the grit- 
 ting of his teeth and the moisture in his eyes 
 as the old farmer's voice emphasized with 
 tremulous notes some harsh or gentle thing. 
 The old man roused out of another dream-like 
 pause, and said: "These mountains an't the 
 biggest, but they's mighty troubled now. Ther 
 sons an' darters is all divided up, homes agin' 
 homes, friends agin' friends, erboutthismizzer- 
 bel war. The church over agin' the spring, on 
 
122 Jijc : A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 er boncli er the spur, don't seem like itself now 
 — so many gone, so few comin' ter the meetin's, 
 an' them holdin' bad feelin', one an' t'other. 
 Me an' the ole 'oman is er tryin' ter pass'fy 
 the women an' childern, an' the men not in the 
 army. We wants unity in religion all the time 
 ennyhow, an' to hev no bones er strife when 
 peace comes. But them home-guard scout- 
 eners, er both sides, keeps er stirrin' things — 
 they does er sight er harm. They oughter be 
 chained, er kej^t at the front. They's too lazy 
 and plunderous ter make provisions fur the 
 army, an' too mean an' scart ter die. We must 
 jes' watch an' wait, an' pray an' work an' boar 
 on, an' do the best we can. But I naterally 
 will keep er longing fur the ole-time songs, 
 an' big meetin's, an' naborly ways we aster hev 
 over thar at the ole church. But now it will 
 be wus an' wus — they've driv Eeeny away to 
 sing an' pray an' suffer an' die 'mong folks 
 that never seen her nur hearn her afore; an' 
 now they's a-threat'nin' an' talkin' agin' me an' 
 the ole 'omnn. The b'ys won't disremember it 
 ontwil they gives ter them kreeters a tetch er 
 
Sounded from the Jurujle. 123 
 
 the stripes they started ter give me ter-night. 
 I uster could qiioil the b'ys with a saft tetch, 
 or er look; but they's got beyant me now — the}" 
 er shore ter git them kreeters, unbeknown ter 
 the ole 'oman an' me, erbout this night's work 
 an' erbout Keeny." 
 
 Here he was stopped by a voice froirf an 
 adjoining room saying, in a firm but cheery 
 way: "Ole man, you's er talkin' erroun' an' er- 
 roun' mightily ter-night. I an't oneasy erbout 
 them kreeters. The judgments of the Lord 
 will come erpon 'em at the due time, with- 
 out you an' the boys botherin' erbout 'em. 
 The stranger needs ter rest, e£ you don't." 
 
 " Yes, yes, Hetty," he said, " I furgits ter be 
 perlite these war-times. But erbout them 
 jiidfj)nents; it seems ter me the wust and the 
 meanest lives the longest, an' has the saftest 
 time sometimes." 
 
 "Well, ole man," she replied, "you's nearly 
 twice as ole as them guard kreeters. I hope 
 you an't ivus nor 'em." 
 
 He felt the wrinkles go out of his face or fill 
 up with a smile, and he nodded to the soldier 
 
124 Joe: A Bn)j in the Wiir-times. 
 
 and said: " That's my ole 'oman. We've been 
 together now gwine on ter fifty year — she 
 knows 'zactly how ter git me when she wants 
 ter, an' she ginnerally wants ter when I'm 
 wrong. But you do need rest; thar's your bed, 
 an' you er Avelcome ter it as one er the b'ys 
 nearly as can be. So good -night, an' good 
 luck to you." 
 
 As he stooped down to put the chunks to- 
 gether before withdrawing, something brushed 
 his back and fell at his feet. It had been 
 pushed through the crack of a little window 
 that opened, next the chimney-jamb, to a small 
 scaffold where his wood was usually piled of 
 nights for convenience in replenishing the fire; 
 and he picked it up, and unfolded it in a start- 
 led way, and hurriedly lit his candle, and sat 
 down by the table to read it. He put on his 
 spectacles and peered at the writing, then took 
 them off and wiped them on a piece of buck- 
 skin that he drew from his pocket, and, re- 
 placing them upon his nose, studied the ]^a- 
 per again, until noticing the signature, he 
 exclaimed: "Ole 'oman, ole 'oman! run here. 
 
Sounded from the Jungle. 125 
 
 gall This ar er sunthin' from Eeeny's fool 
 Confed husband, shore's yer born! Bring yer 
 specs." 
 
 She came hurriedly in, adjusting her spec- 
 tacles to her nose as she came, and took a seat 
 
 if 
 next the churn, at the corner of the big fire- 
 place nearest the old man, but looked steadily 
 into the fire instead of at the letter he held 
 unsteadily before his eyes, and listened as 
 he read it aloud very slowly, spelling out 
 the words and then pronouncing them. He 
 read: 
 
 " B-1-e-s-s-i-n-g-s blessings o-n on y-o-u-r yor 
 g-oo-d good o-l-d old U-n-i-o-n Union h-e-a-d 
 head f-o-r fur a-11 all t-h-e the g-oo-d good 
 y-o-u you a-n-d an' A-u-n-t Aunt H-e-s-t-e-r 
 Hetty h-a-v-e hev d-o-n-e done f-o-r fur E-ee- 
 n-y Reeny a-n-d an' t-h-e the c-h-i-1-d-r-e-n 
 child^rn. 
 
 " Y-o-u-r yor e-n-e-m-y enemi u-n-t-i-1 ontwil 
 sv-e we w-h-i-p whip t-h-i-s this f-i-g-h-t fight. 
 
 "J. D." 
 
 " That's Jimmy, sliove anuf, ole man," said 
 Aunt Hetty as he finished reading the note. 
 
126 Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 He pulled off Lis spectacles and put them 
 back in a little steel case before be answered: 
 "Tober shore it is, ole 'oman. An' it's jes' 
 like a mizzerbel fool Confed — tliey's forever 
 s'posen' they'll whip the fight, no matter what 
 happens to 'em. We uns will hev to shove 'em 
 into the sea afore they'll hev sense anaf ter 
 b'lieve we uns kin lick 'em out er ther boots, 
 an' afore they'll think erbout er hollerin' anuf. 
 I wish they had sense anuf ter know they 
 is whipped beyant all doubt, an' quit ther 
 foolishness. I wants the b'ys ter come home 
 an' go ter work. It ar his own han' write, in 
 course. He's the very chap, with Jack, that 
 scart them home-guard kreeturs at the spring, 
 an' cut the soldier loose. Ef they'd jest er 
 liollered ther names at 'em, they'd er broke all 
 ther necks agin' the trees an' rocks a-gittin' 
 aAvay without ther shootin' — the mizzerbel, 
 planderin' house-burnin', 'oman-fightin' ca- 
 
 Captain Donal and Jack were well on their 
 way back to their army, and Justin on his er- 
 rand as scout, while the old farmer indulged in 
 
Sounded from the Jungle. 127 
 
 criticism on the war and its warriors. But 
 after awhile, the soldier having gone to bed, 
 he fell asleep, sitting in his arm-chair, snor- 
 ing as though trying to swallow a storm and 
 snort it out by turns. 
 
CHAPTEf^ IX. 
 Gathering of the Armies. 
 
 MRS. DONAL resumed her journey Mon- 
 day, refreshed by the holiday's rest and 
 by the good news which had come to her of 
 her husband by Sophie's trysts with her lover. 
 It was the AVednesday following when, halt- 
 ing at a mill on a clear stream which brawled 
 around the foot of a ridge-like mountain, an 
 old man in a butternut suit accosted her. On 
 learning her story, he said: "Refugees have 
 the hardest time. There are two cabins to- 
 gether up yon blue ravine, perhaps a half-mile. 
 They are vacant, and right comfortable. If you 
 like, you can live there. There's a grass past- 
 ure, and the few level acres cleared in the gorge 
 are very fertile. Wood all around. The men 
 are nearly all in the army and nobody to rent 
 it, so it's doing me no good. It will be all the 
 better with some one living there. Suppose 
 you walk up that dim road yonderways and 
 
 (1i;h) 
 
Gathering of the Armies. 129 
 
 see if it will suit. It's the first settlement you 
 come to — can't miss it. It's an oat-of-the-way 
 place, but a fight good one. If you are content 
 with it, just use it as your own, ma'am, till the 
 war's over. You'll have no nigh neighbors, 
 I'm sorry to say, but my folks will be glad to 
 see you. The boys can cut and sell wood to 
 the town-people just round the point may be 
 tv/o miles, and do odd jobs until crop-time. 
 Good garden - spot — raise a heap of house 
 truck in it. You'll get along nice enough, 
 nice enough. Only keep up a good heart and 
 trust in God. Good-day to you, ma'am. Send 
 the children to the first house round the other 
 ridge to let wife and the girls know if you con- 
 clude to live in the cabin." 
 
 The old citizen was soon out of sight, and she 
 stood absorbed in thought. She had not de- 
 bated the question as to where and how she 
 should settle since she was driven from home 
 — her care had been to get on safely. And 
 now that she was brought face to face with 
 tlie" problem of a new home, none to help, 
 none to protect, she was like a wounded, 
 9 
 
130 Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 hunted deer driven from its wonted coverts 
 to perish. But she thought of the lilies that 
 could not take thought for themselves, and 
 yet Solomon in all his glory was not clothed 
 as one of them; and how the sparrows were 
 fed, and not one of them could fall to the 
 ground without God. And as she began to 
 take comfort, little Joe came and sat quietly 
 by her on the brown grass, and said: "Moth- 
 er, you told us at the Sunday camp that the 
 Lord would provide a home for us. Let me 
 an' Benny run up that ravine an' see them 
 cabins. May be it's the home the Lord is fix- 
 in' for us." 
 
 At the boy's words she broke down and 
 wept bitterly. But Joe i^ut his little brawny 
 arms about her neck and kissed her, and said: 
 "Benny and me will keep you safe till fa- 
 ther and Uncle Jack come back from the war, 
 mother. We can work a heap more now, for 
 we've got mighty strong in drivin' an' build- 
 in' big fires ter camp by. You'll see we'll got 
 on nice anuf, nice anuf, as the gray -haired 
 man said." 
 
Gathering of the Annies. 131 
 
 "Yes,* yes," she said, as tliougli her heart 
 had never been saddened by care. " Yes, you 
 and Benny take Boone and go to the place and 
 come tell me all about it. May be we can stay 
 there the rest of the day and to-night any- 
 how." 
 
 Joe and Benny and Boone were soon going 
 along "the dim road" up the ravine. They 
 were more sedate and observant than they 
 had been in their old valley home, and kept 
 closer together. Boone sniffed about the 
 thickets but didn't go far into them, and the 
 boys talked in subdued yet careless tones 
 instead of whooping every few steps as they 
 used to do. Indeed, the warlike scenes they 
 had witnessed of late and the rough route 
 they had traveled the last week were impart- 
 ing to them the thoughts and ways of men 
 before the time; yet when they had filled eye 
 and mind with the cabins and fields and big 
 spring and so forth, to report to their moth- 
 er, and Boone had jumped a fox at a clump 
 of rocks on the way back, they yelled and 
 whooped and dashed through the bushes up 
 
132 Joe: A Boy in the War-thnes. 
 
 and down and around and about, as if old 
 times had returned. Their mother caught 
 the joyful thrill of their voices, and watched 
 along the mountain-side for them and Boone, 
 enjoying the boy-like break in upon the griefs 
 of life. Edna saw the fox as it whisked across 
 a bare place on the steep, and clapped her 
 hands and screamed with delight, answering 
 the yelps of Boone and the shouts of the boys, 
 now in sight. But the fox soon eluded Boone, 
 who, with his tongue lolling out of his mouth, 
 came panting down the point with the boys 
 to the cart. 
 
 The incident was like the gush of light of 
 a sweet, early morning to Mrs. Donal. It car- 
 ried her back to girlhood, when she and her 
 brother Jack often hunted together in the 
 hills round about the old home; and she re- 
 called how once, among the weird bushes and 
 rocks in a blue ravine, a mottled fawn had 
 passed so close as to become entangled in 
 her dress, and she quickly imprisoned it on 
 her bosom; and how Jack had carried both 
 guns, for she would not let him help her with 
 
Gather ing of the Armies. 133 
 
 the fawn, fearing he would hurt it. Its beau- 
 tiful spotted skin, its dreamy, trusting eyes, 
 its love for her, how it attacked James Donal 
 one happy courtship day for beguiling her 
 into a mountain ramble, and she could scarce- 
 ly appease its fury, trooped through her heart, 
 and she was like a girl again for freshness and 
 hope, when Joe got to her and said: ''Good, 
 tight cabins; we'll drive right up there; wood 
 all around, plenty of grass for Het an' ole 
 Eed, nice valley field, good fence, nobody to 
 bother, big spring among the rocks. Come 
 right along, mother. Gee, there, Het! step 
 around, Eed! Here's your way home! Gee 
 up, gee up! " 
 
 And ere she thought, she found herself 
 walking behind the cart, Joe driving, Benny 
 and Edna locking hands and running on ahead 
 with Boone along "that dim road," her head 
 swimming with mixed emotions, her steps 
 trembling, yet free with content, nearing her 
 new home. Nor was she sorry when she got 
 to the place for yielding to the children's 
 happy, flurried way in starting the cart from 
 
134 Joe: A Bo/j in the lV((r-timc.s. 
 
 the creek up tlie blue raviue. " It suits us," 
 she said to them; "we will do nice enough 
 here till peace comes." 
 
 So the boys scoured the cabins with gunny- 
 sacks right away, and built big fires to dry 
 them by night, while the cows lowed for joy 
 in the high grass, and she and Edna talked 
 and sung and put out the things from the cart 
 to air in the greeting sunshine. They were 
 working away merrily, when they saw coming 
 down the trail over the low ridge eastward 
 an old lady and two girls. They crossed the 
 valley field — the girls waiting eveiy now and 
 then, stopping for the old lady and gathering 
 flowers and grasses, coming slov\^ly on to the 
 fire where she and Edna were preparing din- 
 ner. She gave them chairs, and the old lady 
 said: "My old man told us about you. We 
 were going to meet you at the creek when we 
 saw the smoke rising from the chimney above 
 the ridge, and Ave took the trail-way. Hus- 
 band went back to come with the cart round 
 tlie x^oint. Them's red apples in that basket 
 for the children, and dried peaches and some 
 
Gathering of the Armies. 135 
 
 real old grape wine in this one for sick-times; 
 and some coffee ready ground and biscuits 
 and things in the one Gertie brought— she's 
 the strongest and the willingest girl, and the 
 handiest, to be sure, in the whole valley." 
 
 Mrs. Donal seemed to be hearing her moth-* 
 er come back to earth from heaven talking to 
 her, so charmed was she by the tones of sim- 
 ple good-will; and the old lady continued: 
 *' We are heart glad you will stay among us. 
 Come sit down by me, honey, and rest. The 
 girls will soon have dinner for us. They have 
 some venison and coffee on the fire now; the 
 bread in the basket is almost warm — just out 
 of the oven when we started to meet you at 
 the creek with lunch, and to persuade you to 
 stop with us. Sit down by me and rest, child; 
 sit down. The old man says they have treated 
 you rude enough for varmints, but you'll do 
 w^ell, you'll do well;" and she put her hand 
 on Eeeny's head, and stroking her hair softly, 
 said: "It is soft and beautiful and brown- 
 just like my Effie's was who is gone up to 
 God's house to stay until I come. Tell me 
 
136 Joe: A Boy in tlw Wur-tlmrs, 
 
 your name, child." And she said, "Eee— 
 Eeeny," and she hid her face upon the old 
 lady's glioulder and sobbed till, like a soothed 
 child indeed, her heart lost its burden and 
 was freshened and strengthened for the com- 
 ing battles of life. 
 
 The old visitor seemed all unconscious of 
 the mental witchery of her words and ways, 
 and while the girls were busy here and there 
 — broiling venison, roasting potatoes, warm- 
 ing the bread, boiling eggs and coffee — she 
 went on talking. "It is a lonesome place," 
 she said, "sitting up here among the spurs 
 and ravines over the spring off the big road, 
 but town is Just around the mountain not 
 tliree miles away. The mill is but a few 
 steps down there, you know, and the old rock 
 church not quite two miles away. TTe gather 
 there to pray, especially Avheii we get heavy 
 news from the war. It is a Presbyterian church, 
 but we Methodists are welcomed there to hold 
 meetings, so we hear our own preacher and 
 the Presbyterians' too. AYe'll go together to 
 meeting over there whenever you like." 
 
Gathcrlnfj of the Armies. V.M 
 
 ''O," she answered, "I shall so like that) 
 I am Ji Methodist. The Lord's word is true— 
 ' Call upon me in the day of trouble, and I will 
 deliver you,' 1 have been calling upon him, 
 day and night, since childhood. The days of 
 trouble have come fast and heavy sometimes, 
 but he has delivered, and doth deliver, me 
 out of them all. I thought awhile ago at the 
 creek that I should never know rest and hope 
 again, but they are both in my heart now. 
 Your kind words and ways give me new life ; 
 and if ever James and brother Jack come from 
 the war, they will know how to let our grati- 
 tude be known better than words can express." 
 
 *'The gratitude is on our side, child," said 
 the old lady in a crispy, cheery way;' "for 
 while your husband and brother are doing 
 all they can amidst bullets and bombs to 
 shield us from ruin, you will be our neiglibor 
 working and worshiping and suffering and 
 hoping with us. Companionsliip, in times of 
 general trouble, helps all concerned to bear 
 and trust and try on, until it shall please God 
 to make the calamities pass away." 
 
138 Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 The old gentleman was now at hand, and 
 drove his cart near the cabin door. He and 
 Joe took from it a table, a chair or two, a 
 couple of mattresses, some meal and flour and 
 l)otatoes, and a few pounds of meat and laid, 
 and some woolen coverlets, and put them con- 
 veniently on the ground, as the cabins were 
 yet too damp to receive them. The table was 
 soon arranged under the trees, and while all 
 enjoyed the dinner, picnic style, the old 
 gentleman said: "Wife, if you and the girls 
 Viould make coffee as good as this, I should 
 quit complaining and grow fat; this venison 
 is cooked right — just to a turn, juice left in 
 it. You all must take lessons of Mrs. Donal. 
 This dinner suits me better than any I have 
 Lad in a long, long while." 
 
 The old mother and the girls were smiling 
 to one another as he went on praising things, 
 especially as they were cooked; but Mrs. 
 Donal said: "That's the way your girls cook 
 already; it is their conking, every bit of 
 it— coffee and all." And amidst the merri- 
 ment at his expense, he good-humoredly said: 
 
Gathering of the Armies. 139 
 
 " Well, well, Mrs. Donal, the minxes and tlieir 
 mother are always turning the tables on me 
 anyhow. Mother, there, has ahvays been too 
 smart for me from the time I went courting 
 her; and the girls and she together nowadays 
 right down impose upon me. They have got me 
 thin enough to begin to fatten me, I'm sure." 
 
 "Why, father," interposed Ella, "you said 
 this morning you were too fat to walk much, 
 and you wished for your pony back that the 
 soldiers borrowed of you last week." 
 
 "There it is," he replied, "there it is again! 
 Humbugged and outwitted and twitted at 
 home and abroad. I'll never see that pony 
 again, lass. They tell me in town that the 
 fellow was a regular Federal spy, and was 
 chased on Stomp by some of our men in the 
 mountains above here yesterday, and that 
 Stomp swam the Tennessee River with him 
 like a deer. When I had Stomp he made out 
 like I ought to tote him up the hills, and 
 sometimes got mad and jumped from under 
 me if I didn't dismount and let him walk 
 along behind me and get a bite of grass or 
 
140 Joe : A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 leaves every few steps. But the boys say lie 
 outran the wind when the spy was on him. 
 You see how it is, Mrs. Donal; mother and 
 the girls, and pony and the spies and all, 
 throw dust in my eyes. But I'll tell a secret 
 the girls don't wish anybody to know if they 
 don't side with me against mother, and that 
 pretty soon. They think I don't know it." 
 
 The old man's face twitched Avith fun when 
 he noticed the rueful looks of the girls at his 
 last words. Nor was it long before Ellie and 
 Gertie were cozening him ever so slyly, but 
 persistently. He didn't appear to know they 
 were doing so, but let them succeed, for pres- 
 ently they were seen on the rocks over the 
 spring scanning the address of a letter to- 
 gether. It appeared to have turned into two 
 when opened, for when next noticed each was 
 reading a letter so intently as obviously to be 
 unconscious of any thing save that letter. He 
 appeared not to observe the pretty picture 
 they made upon the gray, mossy rock just 
 then, but turned his cart homeward, leav- 
 ing them absorbed in their letters' thoughts. 
 
Gathering of the Armies. 141 
 
 Well he knew that it was only a question of 
 a little while before he would know their let- 
 ters' contents nearly as well as they, for Ellie 
 could and Gertie would keep nothing from 
 him. Somehow he had their whole heart, 
 and right well he knew it. AVhen their 
 mother and Mrs. Donal joined them under 
 the leafy beeches shading the rocks, they told 
 them with beaming, wondering eyes of the 
 gathering of the armies "not twenty miles 
 west of north from them," as their letters 
 told them. 
 
 About sundown her visitors passed out of 
 sight across the eastern ridge, having helped 
 her arrange the cabins, as her new home was 
 called; then she and the tired children gath- 
 ered at the table for supper; then prayers; 
 and soon they were sleeping the sleep of inno- 
 cence and hope. 
 
CHAPTEt^ ^. 
 
 The Roar as of Many Thunders. 
 
 THE following three days were busy days at 
 the cabins. The boys patched the roof of 
 the old stable, made stalls in it for Het and 
 Red, built a shelter to one side of it for the 
 cart of the strips of plank and boards piled 
 near, stopped the cracks in the loft, and cut 
 and hauled wood convenient to the house. 
 Their mother and Edna tidied the cabins and 
 the yard and garden, so by Saturday night 
 the place looked renewed and cheerful; and 
 when they sung and prayed to God, after the 
 Bible-lesson that night, it seemed that, like 
 themselves, earth and sky were full of restful- 
 ness and hope. 
 
 Sunday dawned, and its morning broke upon 
 the gray mountains like some soft-tinted frag- 
 ment of the heavens caressing summit and 
 ravine, and leaving every thing in smiles and 
 
 full of laughing voices — voices of the air ocho- 
 
 (M2) 
 
Tlie Roar as of Many Thunders. 143 
 
 ing the hosannas of tlie sunsliine. The birds, 
 with flitting, wings and tongues of melody, 
 filled the shrubs and rocks with song; the 
 winds, with softened touch, played anthems 
 upon the tree-tops for organs; the squirrels, 
 in the hickory groves on the hilly sides 
 of the gorge, seemed to be holding a camp^ 
 meeting; the water tumbling off the rocks at 
 the spring, and the creek flowing over the 
 shoals, gave musical greetings to the sun- 
 beams sifting light down upon every thing. 
 Edna broke into song as she went to the 
 spring for water, and her mother took up the 
 happy notes of the joyful child. Joe and Ben- 
 ny caught the ecstasy of the scene, and, in the 
 song of the milk that Het and Ked poured 
 into the bowls at their pressure, joined in the 
 hymn of nature and of the mother and child 
 to the "Author and Giver of every good and 
 perfect gift." 
 
 So morning was spread upon the mountains, 
 and amid its warmths they walked to the old 
 Eock Church; and bright noon came, and even- 
 ing, then twilight with its subdued sounds, 
 
144 Joe: A Boy in the W<(r-times. 
 
 wlion iiiglit put all nature to sleex^ iu her lull- 
 ing, star-lit Imsli. 
 
 No wonder when the boys woke up Monday 
 morning their hearts were fresh and brave; 
 and ere the week's close they had harvested, 
 on shares, hay enough in the larger valleys 
 to fill the stable-loft, and had sold enough to 
 the eager towns-people to store their home 
 with plenty until Christmas; and working day 
 after day here and there, at this and that, they 
 constantly filled their mother's heart with joy 
 and her hand with abundance. It was soon 
 noticed too, when boxes of good things were 
 sent to the soldiers, that Mrs. Donal's offer- 
 ing was as large and good as the best; and 
 when collections were taken at the church for 
 army missionary and other causes, she and 
 Edna gave liberally, and Joe and Benny sit- 
 ting together whispered to each other, divided 
 money between them, and threw in as mucli 
 as most of the men did. 
 
 And so their new life in their new home 
 passed on, till one day a far-off, hoarse roar 
 sounded in the ravine; then another, and 
 
The Roar as of Many Thunders. 145 
 
 anotlier, and many another struggled over the 
 mountain and groaned over their heads as it 
 fell down and rumbled on to die in the dis- 
 tance. The children instinctively huddled 
 around their mother and hearkened for the 
 strange sounds as, like muffled thunders, they 
 came hour after hour down to them in the 
 peaceful nest they had made for themselves 
 after the lightning of man's wrath had driven 
 them out of the one in which they were born 
 and nourished, and blessed with love's sweet 
 quiet and safety. 
 
 Often the mother rose to her feet and looked 
 intently toward the fated place whence the 
 awful sounds came; and once as little Edna, 
 crouching at her side, lifted her brown eyes, so 
 like her father's, to hers, and said, " AYhat is 
 it, mother? " she fell to the floor, limp and mo- 
 tionless, and pale and almost breathless; and 
 the children's wails woke her back to life, and 
 gathering them to her bosom, she said: "It 
 is battle, my precious ones, battle! Brave 
 men are dying now over there where the roar 
 
 starts; heroes' blood is reddening the ground, 
 10 
 
IIG Joe: A Boy in the War4'unes 
 
 and sorrowful voices of awful pain and horror 
 are rising up to heaven. O God, spare as 
 many as thy laws can admit to mercy! O 
 .spare especially James and brother Jack and 
 Aunt Hetty's boys, in the terrible cruelties, to 
 see us again in peace! " 
 
 And the children said, *'Amen." 
 
 "Aunt Hetty's boys" — these were Federals. 
 How the heart forgets strifes and heeds love's 
 cries when mad perils pile death round its chos- 
 en objects! Though not of kin, she was as one 
 brought up on the same bosom that had nour- 
 ished and sheltered "Aunt Hetty's boys," and 
 from out the battle's fearsome roar she heard 
 their voices calling her " Little Sister " as in 
 the play-days of early childhood, and she put 
 them before God's throne for the same mercy 
 that she invoked upon her Confederate hus- 
 band and brother. 
 
 They clambered up the mountain and went 
 to its western brink, and listened to the roar 
 as of many thunders, and beheld the clouds of 
 smoke and dust floating up toward the sky. 
 
 It was September 19, 1863. The Con- 
 
The Boar as of Many Thunders. 147 
 
 federate and Federal armies of a liundred 
 thousand men, under Bragg and Eosecrans, 
 had joined battle on the wooded plains of 
 Cliickamauga, and those clouds of mingled 
 smoke and dust— now whitish, now dun, now 
 dark, now black; there thin, there thickening, 
 there dull gray, there blue, there greenish like 
 the vapors above the cyclone; resting, mov- 
 ing, quiet, astir, rushing together, breaking 
 apart, uniting, covering the scene of blood 
 and death like a pall of mockery — fixed their 
 gaze. 
 
 An hour passed, and yet another, as they 
 grouped together on the brink of the mount 
 praying and hearkening to the dread fray as 
 the shifting winds bore to them now less, now 
 more of the far-off, dismal sounds. 
 
 For a half-hour Joe had stood apart from 
 them, now watching toward the roar, then to- 
 ward them. Presently he stepped to their 
 side, and eagerly said: "Mother, let me go 
 there." 
 
 "No — no! " she exclaimed. " No, that fiery 
 sea has victims enough. It needs not that 
 
148 Joe: A Boy in the Wur-times, 
 
 cLildren bo tlirown into its burning gulf of 
 groans and massacre." 
 
 " Mother," repeated the boy, " let me go." 
 
 " No," she said, " you T7ould be lost on the 
 way or killed when there. You must stay by 
 us. You help us much; there you could only 
 be worse than useless, or certainly slain." 
 
 "You read yesterday," he steadily replied, 
 *^ how that stripling David carried to his broth- 
 ers on the battle-field loaves of bread from 
 home, and his mother let him go, with her 
 blessing, to his brothers. Father and Uncle 
 Jack are over there, for the sick soldier we 
 nursed last week told us he knew them, and 
 described them so you said it was true. They 
 will be tired out by night. Let me carry 
 them some good things you cook tn'th your own 
 haucls.'" 
 
 "Do, mother," said Edna; "and he can tell 
 me and Benny how they look and what they 
 said." 
 
 " No," said Benny, " I must go with brother 
 Joe." 
 
 She looked from one to the other of the 
 
The Roar as of Many Thunders. 1J:9 
 
 cliildren with that startled, pale, almost fren- 
 zied love-look of awesome care and fear, and 
 Joe said: " No, Benny, you must stay and 
 take care of mother and Edna. Mother, let 
 mo go." 
 
 She clutched Edna's arm, and, starting across 
 the mountain-crest like a wounded hind, said: 
 " Home, home." 
 
 She seemed not to heed the sharp stones 
 and thorns and scraggy bushes as, like a pale 
 ghost of a woman, she hurried over the path- 
 less way to the cabins. Every now and then 
 she stopped long enough to press Benny and 
 Edna to her bosom and kiss them, and to take 
 hold of Joe and look long and panting — full 
 of sobs — into his face, and, wordless, dash on 
 again. At the spring, upon the rocks above 
 its splash and murmur, she suddenly halted, 
 and the children pitched down by her side like 
 a covey of frightened partridges and nestled 
 close to her, yet not close enough, for she 
 pnlled them nearer still; and from within her 
 disheveled hair, whose full length hung about 
 her shoulders, her tearless eyes shone brightly 
 
150 Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 yet Avitli strange tenderness upon first one, 
 then another, then the other, and looked np 
 toward God. 
 
 AVe shall never know the thoughts t]iat 
 mocked her brain, the passion's power that 
 racked her heart, in that weary flight across 
 and down the mountain. But God knew, and 
 somehow he touched his troubled child, and 
 she clutched Joe and covered him with fervent 
 kisses and showering tears, and she said: "I 
 will let you go. God can keep you safe. You 
 may find James a-hungered and dying, and he 
 will bless me when he sees you. Come, come 
 to the cabins now. Fire, boys, fire; something 
 nice for your father that our own hands have 
 made." 
 
 Joe leaped like a hart on his errand of fire- 
 making; Benny sobbed, but said no more about 
 leaving her and Edna alone; and her heart, 
 like a sea resting after a storm, seemed calmer 
 and softer and sweeter than ever, the cliildren 
 thought. But she was busy here and there, 
 and while the bread browned in the ovens she 
 deftly made a neat haversack, which, wlien 
 
The Roar as of Many Thunders 151 
 
 filled with the brown loaves and hard butter 
 and a bottle of wine, she placed about Joe's 
 shoulders, and said: "Find him, son. Tell 
 him I love him. God bless him forever!" 
 And taking a long, yearning, kissing look at 
 him all over, she said: "I commit you to our 
 heavenly Father. Come back by the third 
 night, counting this one." And he was gone 
 along the trail over the mountain; and, pray- 
 ing, they watched him until he passed out of 
 sight. 
 
CHAPTEfJ XI. 
 
 The Boy on the Battle-field. 
 
 THE glad boy went bravely on to the battle. 
 It was not its fears, nor its dangers, nor its 
 hopes, nor any of its glories that he was think- 
 ing of. Over there in its thick was one who 
 was bigger than the battle's cares and glories 
 to him — his father, w^hom he had not seen in 
 more than two years. He often thought as he 
 trudged along that he saw him just ahead of 
 him, walking slowly so he could overtake him. 
 But it was only imagination playing pranks 
 upon him, and he seemed to step the quicker 
 as the mental vision failed him, as though he 
 were just out of sight beyond the bend in the 
 road the trail had entered. And night came 
 down upon him, but he went on, doublo-quick- 
 iiig sometimes, till ascending some hills he 
 had been skirting he beheld, there and yon- 
 der, scattered camp-fires and saw llie wliin- 
 nying horses and near each wagon a few men 
 
 wearing ribbon badges. 
 (152) 
 
The Boy on the Battle-field. 153 
 
 It was about the first time since lie left 
 home that he had thought of himself; for all 
 along his journey he had been busily pur- 
 suing the battle's roar, that got louder and 
 louder as he drew nearer and nearer to it, 
 thinking all the while of his father, with 
 only now and then a thought of his Uncle 
 Jack and a few others he knew in one or the 
 other army. So he wondered what he should 
 do, and whether they were friends or foes 
 about the freshly kindled fires. And he sat 
 down against the stunted post-oak, in whose 
 shadow he had i^aused, and wished he were a 
 bird to fly back home to spend the night and 
 fly back to tliis little hill again by sunrise the 
 next morning to resume his battle-march. As 
 he thought and thought and watched, a sense 
 of utter weariness possessed him, though no 
 sense of being tired had entered his mind in 
 all his eager tramp. The battle sounds Avere 
 hashed, the stamping of the horses aiid voices 
 of the men at the wagons grew fainter and 
 fainter to his ear, and then were quite gone; 
 the camp-fires Avere dimmer and dimmer and 
 
154 Jqs : A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 went out to liis eyes, and the sleeping boy lay 
 stretched out, his head involuntarily pillowed 
 on liis haversack. 
 
 The grass-seeds were in the wrinkles of his 
 trousers that he had rolled up so as to walk 
 freer through the September pastures across 
 which he had struggled; the dirt lay in streaks 
 and spots on his face and hands and legs as 
 the sweat and dust of his push-ahead travel 
 had mixed upon them; and his old wool hat 
 had rolled from his head a hand's-breadth 
 away. The stars twinkled over him, the bat- 
 tle's smoke enveloped him, the winds hummed 
 and frolicked about him, the dews gathered 
 upon him, the owls hooted close to him; and 
 midnight came, and day-break; and signal- 
 guns had muttered their hoarse calls, and the 
 teams and teamsters all around him were 
 awake with morning noises; but the boy slept 
 on, and toward him came crouching along in 
 t]ie gray light, and scenting hither and tliither, 
 a scowling dog who paused beside him and 
 sniffed about his feet and hands and face, and 
 wagged his tail and stretched out by his side. 
 
The Boy on the Battle-field. 155 
 
 resting liis mouth between his forepaws, watch- 
 ing this way and that, every now and then lift- 
 ing his head to look farther away, muttering 
 low growls, inclining his ears in different di- 
 rections, and stood uj) over him and put his 
 cold nose on the boy's cheek. Waking at the 
 touch, Joe put up his hand and patted the dog 
 and said, "Boone, Boone — old fellow," and 
 sat up. 
 
 He seemed astonished that no bed was under 
 him, no cabin-roof over him. But as Boone 
 pranced and whined around him, and licked 
 his hands and took a clip or two at his face, 
 he remembered every thing, and w^ondered 
 how Boone, whom he had left blocked at 
 home, came to be there. But Boone could 
 not tell him how he had seen him climbing 
 alone up the mountain above the spring, and 
 had howled and howled when he did not re- 
 turn home at night, till Benny had loosed him, 
 and how much trouble he had had tracing out 
 his track among so many other tracks on the 
 way, till he caught up with him a few minutes 
 before. 
 
150 Joe: A Boy in the ]Var-ti/jics. 
 
 Joe ate for his breakfast the luuchoon his 
 mother had given him for supper, every now 
 and then dividing with Boone who sat in front 
 of him comfortably panting, with his tongue 
 i)laying hide-and-seek between his teeth, 
 watching him as he ate. And as he rose up 
 to shake all the scraps of bread and meat on 
 the sward for Eoone, a white-bearded man, 
 crossing the hill to a team on the opx^osite 
 side, saw him and came through the thicket 
 in a friendly way to greet him. He and Boone 
 and the old Belief Committeeman were good 
 friends at once, for the old man said, after 
 hearing his errand: "I am going near the 
 battle right away, so as to feed the soldiers 
 every chance and help with the wounded. 
 Come, go on with me." 
 
 And on they went — the old man and the 
 flaxen -haired boy — with the relief stores, 
 nearer to the thunders, which were again i-oar- 
 ing, with musketry and riHe distinctly hoard, 
 just ahead of them. But Avhen the wagons 
 hnlted the boy pushed on in among the em- 
 battled soldiers, looking and asking for his 
 
The Boij on the Battle-field. 157 
 
 father. All about he went, as though no bul- 
 lets were whizzing above and about him, as 
 though no bombs were shattering trees, rain- 
 ing down limbs, and bursting whichever way 
 he turned, with Boone walking or trotting at 
 his side. 
 
 This way and that, down this flat, across 
 that hill, over to the other, along its crest 
 among the rocks, through and through the 
 woods and fields, all along the Confederate 
 lines the happy-faced boy went, asking for his 
 father; and long ere mid-afternoon hundreds 
 of brave men knew him and Boone and his er- 
 rand, and thought to inquire of this one and 
 that one, of the wounded and sound, of the 
 thirty-five thousand embattled hosts for Cap- 
 tain Donal, hoping to tell the boy when they 
 should see him moving here and there again, 
 and wondered how he had escaped death all 
 the woful day. And then they saw him no 
 more speeding among the living and the 
 dead — to one company and another — but in 
 front of them, and away to the left, they heard 
 the howling of the dog, and one and auothei^ 
 
158 Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 said: "The boy is killed at last; we told him 
 so." 
 
 The boy too had heard the howling, and 
 hurried to the spot, and bent over a dying 
 young soldier, giving him water, offering to 
 him the treasures of his haversack, saying: 
 "Mother cooked it, Frank; and she said you 
 always liked it so, as well as father. Eat, 
 Frank, eat, an' you'll be stronger." 
 
 And the soldier said faintly, " Yes, Joe, I 
 know — I know — ^Little Sister' — God bless 
 her! " and fell back again upon the leaves. 
 
 And Joe thought of the bottle of wine, and 
 put it to Frank's lips, and he swallowed a pr>r- 
 tion, and revived. 
 
 The tramp of the soldiers was all around 
 him now, hurrying forward, for the victory 
 was won and the Federals Avere sullenly re- 
 treating; and among the first that passed near 
 the spot pursuing was a tall, dark man, him- 
 self bleeding and weak, but managing to move 
 forward, who felt something licking his hand, 
 and looking down, he said, "Old Boone, old 
 Boone— you here, and how?" and patting the 
 
The Boy on ihc Ba1ile--fid(L 150 
 
 glad dog's bead, lie pressed on. But Boone 
 looked into his face and trotted off to the right 
 and looked back to see if be followed, and 
 returned to bim and gave a sharp bark and 
 went to the right again; and the soldier turned 
 squarely around after bim, and in a score of 
 yards be understood him, for be saw the busy 
 boy bending here and there about the pros- 
 trate Federal ; and be scarce could believe his 
 eyes and ears when the lad, turning, beheld 
 him, and with a yell of delight leaped to his 
 arms, and he said: "Joe, Joe, my lad! So 
 you ai-e the boy I have seen several times to- 
 day right among the bullets aiid the dead as 
 though a spell was upon your life." 
 
 "Mother let me come," he replied, "to 
 find you, father, and bring her word; and I 
 was trying to help Frank Prenant, bleeding 
 there." 
 
 In a moment Captain Donal was kneeling 
 by Frank and getting him to drink more of 
 the wine. He baited some soldiers as they 
 came near, and said: " Boys, the fight is over; 
 do this Federal all the good you can until I 
 
100 Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 come back — keep the boy with you;" and he 
 walked on again. 
 
 But soon the order to halt overtook him, 
 and, speaking a few words to the next officer, 
 he made what speed he could back to the 
 Avounded man, who stretched out his hand to 
 him when he drew near, and said: "Jimmy, 
 it's all up with me. Little Joe did all a man 
 could have done for me, and helped much. 
 Tell Reeny good-by for me; and let father 
 and mother know how I died with my face to 
 the foe, and tell mother my heart is all right 
 — happy for the next world. Jimmy, kiss 
 Little Sister good-by for me — good b-b-b" — 
 and he was dead in the instant — not time 
 enough to finish saying the word "by" 
 ■ — one letter said, the other silent on his 
 tongue forever, his hands clasping Captain 
 Donal's. 
 
 That night Captain Donal and Jack Bes- 
 mer, with little Joe between them, slept near 
 Frank Prenant's body, and Boone lay at its 
 feet. 
 
 The stars glittering about in the skies, the 
 
The Boy on the Battle-field. 161 
 
 winds whispering among the shattered trees, 
 the strange hum about the scattered camp- 
 fires ou the battle-field, the dense and thin- 
 ner haze of the battle floating like great gray 
 heai3s of smoke above and about him, and the 
 voices .of his father and uncle — now reclining 
 on elbows or sitting beside him, putting ques- 
 tions to him and receiving answers — kept Joe's 
 eyes wide open until blinking midnight came; 
 and he knelt between them and whispered 
 his prayers and fell asleep, saying: "Keep 
 fa — father an' un — unker Ja — Jack safe to co 
 — come home again to mo — mother an' us. 
 A — amen." And the tired boy drooped limp 
 along the earth between the reverencing war- 
 riors, and dreamed boyhood's wonders until 
 day-break. 
 
 The following day was a busy one with the 
 Eebels, for many were moving to and fro car- 
 ing for the wounded, burying the dead, gath- 
 ering arms on the battle-field, and making 
 anxious inquiries concerning the fate of miss- 
 ing comrades. Joe was excited too, hurrying 
 here and there among the soldiers, but at 
 U 
 
1(32 Joe: A Boy in the W(tr-times. 
 
 nine o'clock a.m. lie and Boono began their 
 march homeward. 
 
 Often, along the return route, he lost many 
 minutes, for men and women, boys and girls, 
 anxious to hear all he knew about the fearful 
 battle, plied him with questions. He rested 
 too, now and then, at a spring or branch in 
 the woods or by the road-side, yet it was but 
 an hour to sunset when he mounted the crest 
 of the mountain and turned down its side 
 above the cabins. 
 
 His mother was the first to see his slen- 
 der form coming dow^n the zigzag trail, and 
 her heart stood almost still wdien she descried 
 him, for love's fears tried to make her believe 
 the worst — that her husband and brother had 
 been slain in the battle, and that Joe himself 
 Avas sick or wounded. When he saw her 
 watching him from the mass of rocks near 
 the spring, and Benny and Edna clambering 
 up the trail meeting him, he hallooed and 
 huzzaed, bounding down the steep like a deer; 
 yet she could not believe it was good news the 
 boy was bringing to her. But his first cry as 
 
The Boy on the Battle-field. 163 
 
 he paused to regain Ins breath, so rapidly had 
 he been flying down the steep, "I've seen 'em! 
 I've seen 'em! both well! letters, letters!" set 
 her heart beating with rapture, and the cabins 
 were like palaces to her. 
 
CHAPTEJ^ XII. 
 
 A Despairing Mother's Joy. 
 
 MRS. DONAL'S happiness stopped not the 
 wrath of man — only God can do that. The 
 war raged on. 
 
 Not many weeks had elapsed after Joe's re- 
 turn from the Rebel victories at Chickamauga 
 ere regiment after^ regiment, defeated by the 
 Federals at Missionary Ridge, poured througli 
 the valley west of the narrow mountain, retreat- 
 ing on Dalton. 
 
 Hour after hour she and the children had 
 stood over against the mill, giving food to the 
 hungry soldiers as they passed, watching and 
 inquiring in vain for Captain Donal and Jack 
 Besmer. 
 
 Hope deferred had made her sad indeed, as 
 
 one company after another crossed the creek, 
 
 till her eyes rested with wild eagerness upon 
 
 one more haggard than the rest, and she tossed 
 
 her clasped hands heaven waid, swooning, limp 
 (ir>i) 
 
A Despairing Mother's Joy. 165 
 
 and pale with joy, to the ground. But a tall, 
 dark man and a slenderer one were leaping, 
 leaping to her prone form, and amidst their 
 showering caresses she greeted them with ec- 
 stasy, exclaiming, "O thank God, you both 
 live, and we meet again! " The children hung 
 about their necks, Aveeping glad tears. A griz- 
 zled old general who beheld the scene lifted 
 his hat in reverencing salute, and ordered 
 Captain Donal's company to deploy around 
 the group. Writing a few words on a card, he 
 dropped it in the lieutenant's hand and rode 
 gloomily on. A good great man does gentle 
 deeds nicely, and that card recorded such a 
 deed. It read : 
 
 Captain Donal : I salute you. Stay as long as you can. 
 Several hours will be safe ; but forward in the retreat in 
 time to escape capture with your comj^any. Meanwhile 
 if fighting occurs near, take part in it. 
 
 Pretty soon the tattered company — war-worn 
 heroes of great battles — filed up that "dim 
 road " along the gorge, piloted by the children 
 to the cabins. Mrs. Donal, having arranged 
 with others to take her place in dispensing food 
 
166 Joe: A Boy in the War-times, 
 
 to the passing veterans, hurried after them 
 excited and happy. And when Boone, who 
 had gone forward with the soldiers and chil- 
 dren, missing her, came loping back and fell 
 at her feet, rolling over in frolic and joy, she 
 clapped her hands in answering glee till the 
 birds flitted and chirped in the bushes, whither 
 they had taken refuge from the army's tumult- 
 uous march. 
 
 Once at the cabins, and sentinels posted, 
 all gave themselves to preparations for a 
 home-like dinner. Albeit, ere it was over it 
 appeared to be a festival to them. The long 
 tables of flat fence-rails improvised on the 
 sunny side of the larger cabin, were furnished 
 with Edna's pig roasted and in big pies, and 
 Benny's fat 'possums flanked with potatoes, 
 and pecks of baked apples, and biscuits with 
 milk and butter and eggs and chickens, and 
 sassafras tea without sugar. "It's like a wed- 
 ding smile," said one of the thirty soldiers as 
 they gathered about the table of rails; and the 
 children dashed merrily in and out among 
 them, handing them every thing they could. 
 
A Despairing Mothcfs Joy. 1G7 
 
 The sun iu the west was fringing the trees 
 on the top of the mountain with a golden glare, 
 and tossing through the gaps upon them wave- 
 lets of red rays when they crossed the creek, 
 pressing again along the line of retreat south- 
 ward. 
 
 War's exactions seemed intolerably cruel 
 to the family, and the halt of the soldiers 
 with them like a hurried dream of medleys as 
 they formed into line and resumed the battle- 
 march again. 
 
 Indeed, war is savagery. 
 
 Before you are as old as David when his 
 strength abated, if you and all enlightened 
 persons will insist upon it, thenceforth reason 
 and grace will force the sons of strife whose 
 lusts lead to war to settle their disputes by 
 mental instead of by metal arbitrament. The 
 birth-song of Jesus was, "Peace on earth." 
 The earth is his, and the fullness thereof; and 
 rulers and peoples must submit to him, the 
 King of Peace. Then, peace to them forever! 
 And peace is Eden come to life again. 
 
 But war was now, and, however sad to do 
 
1G8 Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 so, we must move along in its better or Lad 
 scenes, led by our narrative. 
 
 Mrs. Donal and Edna had watched the 
 company till it was lost to sight, and then had 
 watched Joe and Benny, who had gone on 
 with it around a point that stretched out into 
 the valley, tramping back. A holy calm was, 
 somehow, in her soul amidst the warlike scenes 
 of the day, though they were scenes of defeat 
 and retreat to the cause she loved with her 
 whole heart. But not every thing we love and 
 is true succeeds. Disaster comes even to the 
 good in nature. Sweet earth's bosom, fall of 
 jewels and fruits and flowers for us, is rent 
 by earthquakes. The fair-faced sky, serenely 
 sifting blessings down upon us, is gloomed by 
 drear, fitful storms, and humanity's great Chief 
 — the Lord Christ — toiled unthanked and de- 
 spised, his baptism not one of glory, but of dis- 
 aster and blood, abandoned by man and even 
 by God in his last wailing prayer of his piti- 
 less death. Yet he finished the work whereto 
 he was sent — to save us from death. So why 
 should not his servants, like Mrs. Donal, enter 
 
A Despairing Mother s Joy. IGO 
 
 with any weight of wrong and sorrow into his 
 rest, calmly submitting, trusting without ques- 
 tion that he will even bring good to them 
 out of evil. So she felt; and turning back 
 to the cabins with the children, she thought 
 hopefully of what her husband had told her 
 that day: "Best stay here, Eeeny, though th-is 
 section now lies between the armies, and may 
 soon be quite within the Federal lines." 
 
 But amidst her trusting she was next day 
 startled by peals of artillery and rifles and 
 musketry, on the opposite side of the mount- 
 ain. Booms on booms were piled, until it 
 seemed to her they were rising up over the 
 reverberating ridge, like billows of the deep 
 in tremendous commotion, to break down upon 
 her helpless head in utter destruction. So 
 the fearsome battle roared upon the top and 
 farther side of the mountain, and, in its terrors, 
 she knew that while she shuddered here hun- 
 dreds of brave men were mangled and groan- 
 ing there in death's most horrid shapes. What 
 could she do? Pray and wait, wait and pray, 
 till this calamity too should overpass. 
 
170 Joe : A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 And when the din had grown less and less 
 and Goased, there came clambering along the 
 mountain-side now a straggling man in gray, 
 then a score or more, and yet many more, but 
 all were heading to the point south of the cab- 
 ins, and disappeared down the Dalton road; 
 and she knew that Hooker's troops had been 
 - tossed back from the ridge to Chattanooga 
 by Cleburne's heroic division, which was now 
 hastening to rejoin the main army near Dal- 
 ton, Only three had taken the cabins in their 
 route, and one of these was left to her care, 
 too feeble from painful injuries to march 
 farther. In dressing his wounds and watch- 
 ing him through the night, handy Joe help- 
 ing, she w^as kept from brooding over the 
 tempestuous troubles that were thickening 
 about her. 
 
 The silence of the night was a strange con- 
 trast to the resounding stir of the last few day? 
 In the hush upon every thing even the leave? 
 in the overhanging trees were too sleepy to 
 rustle, and when a cricket's chirping upon 
 the hearth where the coals smoldered greeted 
 
A Despairing Mother's Joy. 171 
 
 her she was startled as though a special peril 
 had broken into the house; and she smiled as 
 she thought, in the moment, how needless the 
 alarm had been. But how great the tension on 
 soul and body all the day to her, torn by the 
 griefs of love and fear! Yet she watched and 
 nursed till day-break, when the soldier in his 
 weakness quieted himself like a weaned child, 
 and slept without the starts and exclamations 
 that had made the night full of care to her. 
 
 Sunrise pinked the mountain-tops, and the 
 frighted quails, scattered by yesterday's up- 
 roar, whistled to one another and gathered into 
 coveys again; the shattered ether, healed by 
 the magic wand of night, wrapped the heights 
 and little hills in bluest tints, and under its 
 smoky mantles the old rocks seemed to be nod- 
 ding and dreaming among the sleeping trees; 
 and in the light, and amidst the trysting calls 
 of the birds' loves, and the dozing of the rocks 
 and trees in the ether, the watched and his 
 watchers slept. 
 
 An old woman, poorly though tidily clad, 
 wrinkled by care, and of tottering step, so 
 
172 Joe : A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 weak and pale and fragile that the floating 
 white hair of her beautiful old head seemed 
 too great a burden for her bowed form, came 
 softly to the house of silence, and looking in 
 drew back quickly, for she thought that the 
 pale mother leaning against the wall had died 
 with her dead boy's head in her lap. And she 
 shuddered and sat upon the door^sill almost as 
 quiet as the x^allor upon their faces, and waited, 
 weeping, to gather strength of heart and limb 
 to touch the wan, unbreathing woman sitting 
 there, like the dead, in the chair. But another 
 spell was upon her that helped to overcome this 
 new-boded evil — the spell of affrighted love 
 yearning to be appeased; and she crept to the 
 unconscious mother, and whispered: "Reeny, 
 Pteeny Donal, I have co — co — come." But she 
 could speak no more for her sobbing; and 
 tired and desolate, near desperate despair, she 
 touched the soft hand resting on the boy's 
 flaxen head; and Mrs. Donal said, " What is it, 
 Joe?" and, turning his head in another posi- 
 tion on her lap, Avas asleep again. The poor 
 old anxious woman bent down at her side 
 
A Despairing Mother's Joy. 173 
 
 and waited, as only tlie broken-hearted poor 
 can wait, in hope of help and corofort. 
 
 But presently the mother, startled by a sigh, 
 from the other room it seemed, rose up, every 
 sense now fully alive, and was about to walk 
 softly there, when her notice was arrested by 
 the figure crouching at her chair. She knelt 
 down beside it and said: " What^r^r can I do 
 for you, mother? any thing, every thing I can. 
 Sit here. Don't talk till you rest. You look 
 60 tired." 
 
 The old lady yielded to her like a child. 
 Giving her some wine at once, Mrs. Donal 
 roused Joe, who kindled the fire to a blazing 
 warmth. 
 
 The fire's heat and the wine and the wine 
 of kindness revived her visitor, and she said: 
 '*We have met at the Eock Church, Keeny 
 Donal, where everybody knows you. A sol- 
 dier sent me here. He told me you would help 
 me find Jesse where he was shot on the mount- 
 ain yesterday, if they hadn't buried him. 
 He is all I had left to me. His two brothers 
 were killed at the Murfreesboro battle, and 
 
174 Joe: A Boy in the War-thncs. 
 
 now Jesse is gone. Kone! no son, no child 
 now! Say, will you help me find him ? I'm so 
 forsaken, so friendless. I have nothing to re- 
 pay you for it. But I can work, I can work 
 yet; and will — will, all my days for you, if you 
 will help me find Jesse's body. I wa — want — 
 I do so want to see his fa — face once more." 
 
 Mrs. Donal had said again and again, " Yes, 
 O yes, yes," as the old lady was speaking, but 
 she seemed not to hear her, and now she add- 
 ed: "We'll have breakfast at once, and then 
 we'll go. We shall find him. Don't think we 
 shall not, mother." 
 
 And while she busied about her breakfast 
 the old lady sat like one frozen while wide 
 awake, so still she was, so far away her eyes 
 seemed to be looking. But when the wounded 
 soldier in the other room said, "A little water, 
 please," she clasped her hands and whispered, 
 as a fearful paleness w*as in her face: "He 
 spoke then — Jesse's ghost. Say, did you hear 
 him? wants water. Do you think he went to 
 hell — Jesse? I've prayed and prayed for him 
 ■ — he an't there, is he— in the bad place? " 
 
A Despairing Mothefs Joy. 175 
 
 " O no, no! " said Mrs. Donal. " Our Father 
 in heaven hears prayers, especially a mother's 
 prayers, my husband says." 
 
 "I know, I knoAv," whispered the old lady; 
 "but that was his ghost— I know his voice — 
 asking so pitifully for water just now. Say, 
 do you think I can carry some to hell for 
 him? Poor boy, poor boy! I would go there 
 for him. Do you think God will let me? I 
 live eastward among the ridges thereaway, 
 child, thereaway, and I could tell little Jess 
 that I had seen his papa, when I got back 
 from— from the— the other world." 
 
 Keeny's heart almost failed for grief at the 
 drear delusion of the crushed old mother, 
 crazed by love's woes. *'But," she thought, 
 " the wounded soldier, whose voice she recog- 
 nized a minute ago as that of her son's ghost, 
 may prove to be the son she mourns as dead; " 
 and going softly to him with a cup of water, 
 said, as he drank, ''Have you a mother and 
 little boy living?" 
 
 He took the cup from his lips, and replied: 
 " Yes, among the knobs a few miles off —the 
 
176 Joe: A Boy in the War-time!^. 
 
 best of mothers, and dear little motherless 
 Jess." 
 
 Repressing a sub of joy, she said: "I think 
 she is in the other room. One is there who 
 lost two sons in the Murfreesboro battle. 
 She is seeking her only one now who a sol- 
 dier has told her was killed on this mountain 
 yesterday — Jesse." 
 
 He quivered down upon the pillow, saying: 
 " It is two years since she has seen me, and 
 my little boy's sweet young mother died in 
 her arms not six weeks ago." 
 
 " Well," she replied, " be very patient just a 
 little while. She is undone by anxiety and 
 overexertion now. She could not endure see- 
 ing you just yet. The revulsion from despair 
 to such joy might kill her." 
 
 Soothing the grieving old visitor, she soon 
 prepared breakfast; and immediately after she 
 ate, the old mother said: "Come, come, we 
 must go after him now. Come." 
 
 "Mother," said Mrs. Donal, "you are in 
 such a flurry. We will find your Jesse alive, 
 and nurse him together, may be, if you will 
 
A Despairing Mothefs Joy. 177 
 
 just be quiet and not get into a flurry about 
 him." 
 
 "Flurry, child," she repeated, quieting in 
 the instant, "flurry! That's the very word he 
 used to say to me when he was a boy, if I got 
 pestered about things. But you get ready; 
 you'll see I can be patient. Get ready, child, 
 get ready! Quick — hurry, hurry^! " 
 
 "There now, mother," she quietly answered, 
 " you are nearly in a flurry again. You take 
 on exactly as if he wasn't alive. Be just as 
 though he was coming to the house for dinner, 
 from working in the field, and you wanted him 
 to have a good time resting. The soldier who 
 sent you here was mistaken. Your son is not 
 dead. He is alive — only wounded." 
 
 The old mother's eyes softened, her face 
 
 took on a deeper pallor than ever, then flushed 
 
 just a little, and she said: "Alive, alive! O 
 
 you can't mean that! He said he saw him shot 
 
 down yesterday in the Cleburne fight, on this 
 
 mountain — killed. Jesse alive! O joy, joy! 
 
 But no, not so, not alive. Dead." 
 
 Mrs. Donal knew not what to say. All the 
 12 
 
]78 Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 eagerness of supreme motherhood — believing 
 yet questioning, ready to perish yet hoping 
 for its last child, accounted dead, to revive its 
 •life by saying "mother" again — stood before 
 her as a corpse, yet quivering with a misty 
 hope; in the depths yet fluttering ever so little, 
 its stricken wings pluming for flight into a 
 heaven of joy; and yet certainty of that j(>y 
 might be the surest, quickest bolt of death to 
 her overwrought, tortured life; but Eeeny said 
 very tenderly, yet with seeming indifference: 
 "Yes, mother, I do mean alive; but in the 
 other room I have a hurt soldier I wish you 
 to comfort some before we go. But you will 
 take on so, you are so impatient, so anxious, 
 you Avill give him a backset; he's much better 
 to-day; he knows you, and if yoa are very, 
 very quiet he will tell you all about your son, 
 who he knows was wounded and will soon get 
 well and see you." 
 
 She quivered down into her chair, and be- 
 lieved, and the peace, peace of trust and hope, 
 made her face beautiful to behold; and there 
 was a strange, soft melody in her voice as she 
 
A Despairing Mother's Joy. 179 
 
 said: "I will wait, child, wait. May be I can 
 comfort that hurt soldier a little; I'll try, I'll 
 try for Jesse's sake; then we'll go. Not killed, 
 wounded, alive, alive! If I'm right quiet, no 
 flurry, when I see the soldier, will you go right 
 to Jesse with me? He wrote to me, from 
 Lookout Point, that I should see him again, 
 for when he prayed his heart told him so. 
 But ah me! I'm so mistrusting, so mistrust- 
 ing, and — and flurried." 
 
 "Never mind it now," said Mrs. Donal; 
 "just be right composed, so you won't excite 
 him, when you find him wounded and weak; 
 and be sure not to cry if I find him for 
 
 you." 
 
 "Cry, child, cry!" she said. "Why, if I 
 could see him just alive, I'd be so strong and 
 glad I couldn't cry. You'll see, you'll see, if 
 you'll only find him for me." 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Donal, helping her to 
 rise from the chair, "now be strong. Listen. 
 That was Jesse's voice you heard asking for 
 water, but in the other room, not in the bad 
 place. Come to him now. You may nurse 
 
180 Joe: A Boy in the W(ir-timcs. 
 
 him to sleep, if you will be sure not to get iu 
 a flurry." 
 
 She was pushing the door open as she ut- 
 tered the last words, and she felt the old 
 mother flit from her like a flower falling from 
 her hands; and, sure enough, she had fallen, 
 but on her knees at the soldier's pillow, hold- 
 ing his head, both weeping very quietly; and 
 she left them to themselves, and told Joe and 
 Benny that they might spend the day on 
 the mountain. 
 
 The visitor was another being when she 
 came to Mrs. Doual in the yard an hour later, 
 and said: "His fever is very slight now, and 
 he's sleeping soundly." Smiles were in her 
 eyes and lips and ways. She appeared to have 
 grown twenty years younger since earl}' morn- 
 ing, and fresh and bright — a delightful mid- 
 dle-aged Christian matron, graced with ease 
 and self-poise, the opposite of her morning's 
 self, except as to resolution. For she said: 
 "I must have him home by night; can hide 
 him better there. The Federals will be all 
 through here any time, he says, and send 
 
A Despairing Mother s Joy. 181 
 
 him prisoner to the North if they find him. 
 He'll be ready for the front again in a few 
 weeks." 
 
 In the afternoon he was crossing the ridge 
 eastward, mounted upon a sedate mule that 
 the old farmer who owned the ca-bins had 
 loaned to him. 
 
CHAPTEf^ XIII. 
 
 A Rare, Brave, Gentle Lad. 
 
 SHE was not startled when she saw the bo3'S 
 and Boone later in the afternoon coming 
 down the roountain with a hop, skip, and a 
 jump — a kind of break-neck speed. She knew 
 that boys and dogs on a vacation picnicked in 
 their own way, and that the way, if it did not 
 kill them, enlivened their blood till it jumped 
 and leaped and made them do rare things in 
 a rare way — their way. But when she heard 
 Joe panting near her, and beheld his wide 
 eyes, she kueAv that the boy had something to 
 J tell. His story was short, however exciting it 
 proved. He said: " Boone barked and howled 
 up yonder just now, and when we went to see 
 there was a man in a thicket trying to scuffle 
 up, but couldn't — covered witli blood. He 
 l)ointed to his mouth and then to his can- 
 teen. AVe thought he was dying and wanted 
 water, so we brought his canteen along." 
 
 (1S2) . ^ 
 
A Hare, Brave, Gentle Lad. 183 
 
 " What uniform? " she asked. 
 
 " Got none," he replied — " every - day 
 clothes." 
 
 "Go," she said, after thinking a moment; 
 "fill the canteen and a jug with water from 
 the spring. I will come by there." Then rap- 
 idly gathering articles useful for the wounded, 
 she and the children hurried up the mountain. 
 
 It chanced to be a fair, warm evening for 
 the season, and they soon arrived at the thicket. 
 A glance told Mrs. Donal who the sufierer 
 was, and gently as possible, after giving him 
 w^ater and wine, she fed him with milk and 
 bread. The delirium in which she found him 
 gave place to lucid intervals after awhile, till 
 soon he was in his right mind, but not before 
 she had dressed his w'ounds, and with special 
 care the ragged one across the back of the 
 neck, which, she thought, seemed to have 
 harmed him more than the one in his side — 
 that, she reasoned, having affected his spinal 
 nerves, caused his helplessness more than the 
 pain and loss of blood from both. The sun 
 w^as setting in a cloud of pink and blue when 
 
184 Joe: A lioij in the Wur-timcs. 
 
 lie woke from a short, restful sleep; and fixing 
 his patient eyes upon her face, a glad look 
 broke over every feature of his own. She 
 said: " We will do every thing we can for 
 you — the children and I. You are the Federal 
 scout that gave us such timely help in our 
 trouble up in Tennessee. I know you by the 
 Bcar across your brow. Can you tell us what 
 is best to do for you? " 
 
 He perceptibly shook his head; and sitting 
 on the rocks they watched him there, keeping 
 the bandages in place, cooling his face, keep- 
 hig his head upon the pillow and his form 
 upon the woolen spread that Joe had run back 
 for, and remaining utterly still when he slept. 
 
 The boys fell asleep propped against the 
 rocks, and Edna, huddled down between them, 
 looked like a big snow-flake dreaming. Nor 
 could Mrs. Donal help going to slee^), worn 
 out by the terrible excitements and sleepless- 
 ness of the two last days and nights. Yet her 
 sleep was uneasy— in snatches- for a motion 
 Df the children would arouse her, or a groan 
 m- a delirious word of the sufferer. In tlie 
 
A Hare, Brave, Gentle Lad. 1S5 
 
 moonliglit she could see the deathlike hue re- 
 ceding aud the rising color tinging his cheeks. 
 She feared to make a fire, lest an enemy she 
 knew not might be guided to the spot; so she 
 watched and nursed and shivered and slept on 
 top of the mountain far into the November 
 night, till Joe became wide awake and stood 
 up by her side. The boy was wiser and braver 
 than she thought, for he said: "It is too cold 
 here for you and the children, mother. Go 
 home with them, please. I will watch the 
 Federal till breakfast, and do every thing for 
 him if you will teach me before you go." 
 
 And he pleaded till the scout, awakened 
 by the whispering, and catching its im^oort, 
 said as cheerily as he could: " The boy's voice 
 reminds me of his father's. You see I can 
 talk and think right now — getting better fast. 
 He's right. All go to your home — no need of 
 this exposure. I gather strength every mo- 
 ment. You will all die of pneumonia nursing 
 me here. I shall be best satisfied now if you 
 will go home. You all have nearly cured me, 
 you see, already. I believe I can walk." 
 
380 Joe: A Boy in the War-tunes. 
 
 She knew his claim of strength was much 
 overwrought by his courtesy, but she discerned 
 that to abide in the chilling air would be dis- 
 astrous to them probably, and make the suf- 
 ferer anxious; so consenting to go, she said: 
 "Joseph will return at once with a covering 
 for you, and stay by you till morning. He 
 will not fear, Boone keeping him comjoany— 
 you will find him handy." 
 
 "No," said the scout, "no use — not a bit of 
 use to expose Joe." 
 
 "I'd rather stay than not," said Joe; "it 
 wall be just fun for me." 
 
 A ripple of humor spread upon the suffer- 
 er's face at Joe's thought of fun in the last 
 phrase, and Mrs. Donal quickly added: "Yes, 
 and I must have my way about this; it is 
 best." 
 
 They withdrew to the cabins, whence Joe 
 and Boone soon returned with warm spreads, 
 and snugly covered him from the nipping frost 
 that was rapidly gathering on the height. He 
 increased in strength every hour, and soon had 
 use of his liml)s as the nervous shock, occa- 
 
A Bare, Brave, Gentle Lad. 187 
 
 sioned by the woiiikI back of his head and 
 neck, passed away. The next morning she 
 renewed the dressing of his w^ounds with ex- 
 ceeding care and supplied him with proper 
 diet, while Joe slept and slept all the day 
 long; but when night came again, he was 
 ready for his vigils up there, closer to the 
 stars than usual. 
 
 It was after midnight when a Federal troop 
 rode up to the cabins and demanded supper. 
 There w^ere ten of them, and she placed be- 
 fore them what ready cooked food she had, 
 wdth plenty of milk. They had searched the 
 premises closely, and soon became threatening 
 and boisterous. Luckily in her fright she 
 thought of the scout on the mountain and the 
 medal that did good service for her once be= 
 fore, and she handed it to the rollicking crowd. 
 One exclaimed: "Hallo, boys! it is Mai's safe- 
 guard. Why are you by this, madam? " 
 
 At once seeing her advantage, she replied: 
 " He is a brave man — a gentleman, though a 
 Federal scout. He will live to resent any 
 wrong to me or mine." 
 
188 Joe: A Boy In the War-times. 
 
 A burst of derisive merriment met her 
 si)eecli, and one said: "But tell us the med- 
 al's history." 
 
 She did so briefly, and said: " This is about 
 tlie first time I have been glad at the presence 
 of Federals, for I am a true Confederate. My 
 husband and brother are in the army. Like 
 the man who gave me that medal, they annoy 
 men, not women and children." 
 
 A few of them interrupted her with oaths 
 or hissing, but one said: "A regular Johnny 
 Ileb wife, by golly — brave to the last; let her 
 talk." 
 
 " I have little else to say," she rejoined. 
 " If you Avisli to do your duty instead of an- 
 noying families, I will put you in a way to 
 help one of your own men who is in a desper- 
 ate strait. I am sorry to yield liim to you, 
 helpless and wounded as he is, but it is best 
 for him. He needs a surgeon's service. Six 
 come with me, the rest remain here with the 
 horses." 
 
 "That's cool," said the ofTicor with an oath. 
 "You mean you will deliver us by squads into 
 
A Bare, Brave, Gentle Lad. 180 
 
 the hands of the Eebels, but we'll not be so 
 entrapped." 
 
 "No," she replied, "upon inviolable honor 
 not so. I could have delivered him to the 
 Confederates who were here this morning. 
 He is the scout who gave me that medal. My 
 life for his for the protection he once gave 
 mine and me when we were utterly helpless." 
 
 "I will trust you," he replied; "but why 
 divide the men?" 
 
 "Because," she said, "the descent of the 
 mountain must be made afoot, and it is ea- 
 siest made this side, and your safest way to 
 your people above here is this side. The 
 horses should be cared for." 
 
 He soon made disposition of his men, and 
 said to her: "We are ready to follow you." 
 
 She answered: "On reflection, I must not 
 leave the children; the soldiers will frighten 
 them." And thinking a moment, and remem- 
 bering that Benny would obey her fearlessly, 
 she said: "Benny, I will keep Edna with me. 
 Go with the captain and his men to where 
 your brother and the scout ar^. Guide them 
 
IDO Joe: A Boij in the War-times. 
 
 back the smoothest route. Joseph," she said 
 to the soldiers, "is my little son; his dog is 
 with him as he nurses the scout alone. Don't 
 injure the dog." 
 
 Having followed the boy, they were soon 
 back, carefully bearing the scout on the large 
 woolen spread to the cabins. He said to 
 her as they laid him upon the mattress she 
 had made ready: "It is all right, Mrs. Donal, 
 is it?" 
 
 "Yes," she answered, "only I hate to give 
 you into the care of others. But it is the only 
 really safe way, and I hope you can bear to 
 be removed. You will fare better in one of 
 your own hospitals." 
 
 " Not better, not better," he said, " but much 
 safer, no doubt. Joe is a rare, brave lad — 
 gentle as a girl, too. He helped me much, 
 and Benny guided us down the height nicely; 
 and Edna, I ate the little biscuit you sent by 
 Joe at supper-time, that Joe said you cooked 
 for me yourself, the first thing." And he fell 
 back exhausted by the weary trip down the 
 mountain-side ^nd his effort to talk. 
 
A Bare, Brave, Gentle Lad. 191 
 
 By day-break lie had been welcomed into a 
 large camp of Federals, and often thereafter, 
 as their soldiers raided or encamped in that 
 section, the cabins were guarded by them and 
 supplied with many comforts when otherwise 
 the mother and children would have suffered. 
 
 From that time on till May, 1864, all the 
 rough but fertile and beautiful region be- 
 tween Chattanooga, the Federal head-quar- 
 ters, and Dalton, the head-quarters of the 
 Confederates, was often overrun by raiders 
 of either army. Nor was it any better after 
 Sherman's invading army had advanced, in 
 May, against Johnston at Dalton, for battle 
 after battle on his march to Atlanta made 
 that section the pass-way of his sick and 
 wounded and recruits and camp-followers and 
 supply-squads and trains. But we must skip 
 the many subterfuges of wit and cleverness 
 by which Joe and his mother preserved pro- 
 visions stored in out-of-the-way places in 
 rocks and crevices and hollow trees from the 
 gangs of marauders, and the generous acts 
 they did for the suffering of different classes. 
 
102 Joe: A Boy in fhe War-times. 
 
 Real goodness is forever its own reward, 
 yet many reciprocal acts were bestowed on 
 them. Their preservation of the fallen scout, 
 known to many Federals and Confederates as 
 well, and their ud murmuring endurance of 
 hardships, as true Johnny Rebs, were topics 
 at many camp-fires in each army, and won 
 them many courtesies from brave soldiers 
 without respect to party. 
 
 But, spreading fire and death, the Federals 
 swept on that year through the sunny land 
 till Appomattox came in 1865; and Goldsboro 
 --Durham's Station, rather — and Lee and 
 Johnston were overwhelmed. 
 
 So the fated Confederacy, dashing and bold, 
 turned into smoke over its fields of glorious 
 ruins, and vanished. Only its heroes and 
 heroines — man and boy, woman and girl — will 
 live in song and story; and their descendants, 
 building up the waste places, shall make the 
 historic land blossom like a restored paradise. 
 
 But we must not sing out of time, so we will 
 hurry along to the closing chapters. 
 
CHAPTEl^ XIV. 
 
 A Joyous Family Reunion. 
 
 PEACE had come, armies disbanded, and the 
 Confederate veterans who had been so fort- 
 unate as to survive the many furious battles 
 were returning in broken bands and small 
 groups to tlieir devastated homes. 
 
 As those coming Bouth-west from the scenes 
 of surrender journeyed, they divided and sub- 
 divided, turning off the main route in mount- 
 ain and valley, sad yet glad, defeated yet un- 
 vanquished, till they had scattered over the 
 desolate land, and one by one entered their 
 forlorn homes. 
 
 Busy Joe and Benny, one May-day, finished 
 planting the ravine valley in corn, and the 
 winter oats were looking green and growing. 
 You may know the boys and cows, that had 
 done the plowing, were happy next day, which 
 was a holiday. The boys went to the creek 
 
 with fishing-tackle, Edna and luncheon along, 
 13 n08) 
 
194 Joe : A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 and old Boone slowly pattering after them, or 
 dashing to the right or left as he scented a 
 rabbit. 
 
 The trout and perch seemed to be on a pic- 
 nic excursion too, from the way they jumped 
 at the bait, and made the lines whiz in the 
 water, and the lively fluttering they made 
 as the boys landed them. It was quite a lot 
 of the beauties they had captured by noon. 
 They built a fire on a little bluff by the creek, 
 and broiled several of the fish for dinner. 
 They fed Boone under a shady bush, and ate 
 and laughed and halloed, and leaped to the 
 creek for water when they burned their 
 mouths with the hot fish, then ate away again 
 in holiday glee. 
 
 Now and then a citizen passed by, and 
 went on happier because of their happiness. 
 Amidst their joy they saw, winding along the 
 creek road, an old cranky wagon drawn by 
 two scraggy, solemn mules coming toward 
 thorn. It stopped to rest when it got to the 
 top of the little rise near their picnic-ground; 
 and Boone got up and faced it, sniffing this 
 
A Joyous Family Heunmi. 195 
 
 way and that, whining and wagging his tail. 
 All quickly looked toward the wagon, but 
 seeing no one, their eyes peered doAvn the 
 slanting road, when they saw two ragged men 
 coming slowly and talking now and then as 
 they wearily walked along. They were grimed 
 with dirt and smoke, and their hats, like their 
 clothes, lopped about full of- holes, and Edna 
 said: "They are mighty tattered and tired- 
 looking." 
 
 But Boone forgot he was growing old and 
 went racing to them, and they snapped their 
 thumbs and fingers at him, and patted him, 
 and knelt down and hugged him; and Joe 
 said, "Father and Uncle Jack!" and leaped 
 toward them, forgetting Edna, but bounded 
 back and caught her hand to help her run. So 
 Benny got to them first, but not much; and 
 that was a happy time on that woody road — 
 happier than any picnic that was ever on that 
 creek before. 
 
 Captain Donal picked up Edna, though she 
 was eight years old now, and carried her 
 along in his arms, as if she were a baby, and 
 
196 Joe: A Boy in the JVar-timcs. 
 
 kissed Ler and kissed her as they went on to 
 the wagon; and Joe and Benny swung to their 
 uncle's hands who greeted them with many 
 merry smiles and words. The mules did noth- 
 ing when the men got to them except that one 
 of them winked his eyes a little, and both let 
 their ears flop more, and went into deeper 
 sleep; but Boone sat upon his haunches pant- 
 ing, and looked from one face to the other, 
 and now and then gave a quick, glad bark. 
 
 "Children," said the Captain, "what are 
 you doing away off here by yourselves? " 
 
 "Away off here?" repeated Joe. "Why, 
 the mill is just below this point, and moth- 
 er's at home not half a mile from there, you 
 know." 
 
 "Ah!" he replied, "we have been along 
 the road below the mill, but never this way 
 before. We thought we had several miles to 
 go yet." 
 
 "Why, father," said Edna, "the cabins are 
 right round that point up the dim road a lit- 
 tle way; don't you know?" 
 
 "Yes, yes, now I know, Edna," he answered; 
 
A Joyous Family Reunion. 197 
 
 "and I am glad enough, I tell yon. Let's go 
 ahead right away." 
 
 So the basket and the trout and perch were 
 put in the wagon, and Joe shook the lines 
 over the mules, and they rolled toward home; 
 Benny and Edna, too glad to walk with their 
 father and uncle, told them many things 
 pleasant to be heard. Soon they were in " the 
 dim road," as they had called it ever since the 
 old gray-haired man had shown it to them 
 when he urged their mother to live at the 
 cabins; and as they got to the hill-top they 
 saw a busy woman hanging children's cloth- 
 ing to sun upon the bushes, and then turn 
 to the house. And they did nothing but go 
 along, for Captain Donal said, "Don't call — 
 it might alarm her." But the wagon jolted 
 over some rocks, and she looked up that way, 
 then straightened up, and looked and looked, 
 and shrieked, and fell nearly to the ground, 
 and came bounding like a joyful girl meeting 
 them. The ragged soldiers forgot the chil- 
 dren and rushed to meet her, and Joe sprung 
 from the wagon and ran with Benny and 
 
1^8 Joe : A Boy in the JVar-times. 
 
 Edna, and they clung to their Uncle Jack, as 
 they saw their father kneeling over their pale- 
 faced, dumb mother with her eyes stretched 
 wider and sweeter and softer than they ever 
 beheld them before, looking into his face. 
 She cried and sobbed upon his bosom, and 
 then he took her up in his arms as he had 
 Edna, and went toward the cabins, and she 
 said: "No, no, James. I can fly now. I can 
 dance like Miriam on the Eed Sea bank for 
 joy and peace in my husband's safety and 
 presence." So he gently placed her upon her 
 feet, and kissed her again, and all went joy- 
 fully to the house. 
 
 I don't know what the mules thought of 
 the scene. They were good old army com- 
 rades, and had together heard many cannon 
 thundering on earth, and many clouds thun- 
 dering in the sky, and seen hard war-scenes. 
 They were not used to these soft ways of peace, 
 though they looked as harmless as doves just 
 tlien, and followed on of their own accord, and 
 stopped in the shade in fmnt of the house, 
 and went to sleep quite lamb-like. 
 
A Joyous Family Reunion. 199 
 
 It was not long, however, before the family 
 in the cabins heard a row out there, for the 
 lines had got under old Jube's tail, and he 
 was kicking the wagon-front to pieces with 
 the celerity of sledge-hammers driven by 
 steam. The lines dropped to the ground, 
 and he was directly asleep again, looking as 
 though he never had lifted and never could 
 lift his hind feet. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Returning to the Old Homestead. 
 
 THE hours sped happily at the cabins the 
 next week or two. Old Jube and Cleb got 
 fresh and were fattening apace; Captain Don- 
 al and Uncle Jack, in new butternut suits, 
 looked trim and glad, though gloom at times 
 was on their bronzed faces as they recalled 
 the battle horrors of the past four years and 
 the defeat that had followed. They w^ere de- 
 bating what to do. 
 
 The cabins could be made a good home, 
 and the lands attached and some near by 
 could be bought on easy terms. Their old 
 home was in ashes, yet tlie lands were theirs 
 and uninjured. But in that section of Ten- 
 nessee some bitter deeds of violence had oc- 
 curred between Unionists and Confederates 
 since the close of the war, and bad blood was 
 ready to boil up and flow out in death at 
 
 any moment, and where least expected. They 
 C200) 
 
Returning to the Old Homestead. 201 
 
 could live here in peace; tliey might have to 
 dwell ill strife there. Yet here many needed 
 homes, and the cabins and planted crop would 
 be a Godsend to any of them. If unmolested, 
 the season was not too far advanced for them 
 to grow a corn crop at their old Tennessee 
 homestead. This they decided to try at any 
 rate; and as Mrs. Donal and the boys were 
 not in debt, they turned the place over to its 
 kind old owner, and having brought Frank 
 Prenant's body from the Chickamauga battle- 
 field, they rolled out one bright day Tennes- 
 seeward. Het and-old Ked to the old cart, and 
 Jube and Cleb to the battle-scarred wagon, 
 stepped forward with their light burdens 
 slowly; but hopeful hearts cheered them up- 
 hill and quieted them down-hill, and the dis- 
 tance was made in due time. 
 
 They camped one night at the Sunday-camp 
 spring, where George and Sophie, now mar-- 
 ried, met them; and the hours seemed to sing 
 with joy as they conversed and made merry 
 together. When they were parting the Cap- 
 tain said: "Wait awhile, George. We often 
 
202 Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 prayed together in our war-camps. I still 
 follow that old habit — only my family now is 
 not so large as then. Many of our old com- 
 rades that joined us then have crossed over 
 the river and 'rest under the shade of the 
 trees.' AVe are spared to our loved ones. 
 Lead us in prayer, George, as you used to in 
 the army." 
 
 Hearts tried in battle-fires at white heat 
 joined in th^t prayer of reunion and parting, 
 and they sung the old song all through, " How 
 firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord." 
 Their voices had a special "melody in singing 
 the last verse: 
 
 The soul that on Jesus doth lean for repose, 
 
 I will not, I will not desert to his foes ; 
 
 That soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake, 
 
 I'll never, no never, no never forsake. 
 
 Mrs. Donal said: "The Sunday night I 
 camped here, a driven, threatened fugitive, 
 the children and I sung that old song. I felt 
 at its close that no matter how weary and 
 troubled our way, God's own care would be 
 pityingly with us; and I forgave from my 
 
Eeturning to the Old Homestead. 203 
 
 very soul all who had wronged me. Now I 
 feel the same assurance of God's sweet care 
 iu the future and the blessedness of forgiving 
 as we hope to be forgiven. You old soldie}-s, 
 pledge Sophie and me that you will wreak no 
 vengeance on any one for any thing in the 
 past, that you will not remember the sins of 
 any person against you or yours." 
 
 Sophie's eyes looked yearningly to George 
 as the words were spoken, while he stood as 
 one uncertain what to say or do, his face pal- 
 ing and flushing with conflicting passions. 
 He said after thinking: "When mother was 
 without protection a Unionist too fearful to 
 go to the army took from her, on a fraudulent 
 plea, all her stock and the corn she had de- 
 pended on for bread for herself and my little 
 sister Nettie, and threatened them with the 
 lash. Several Unionists went from this neigh- 
 borhood to the army and died for their con- 
 victions; others of them, as brave as they and 
 who fought as well, escaped with life and are 
 at home. I have no ill-will toward them — we 
 are friends. We talk over the battles where we 
 
204 Joe: A Boy rn the War-times. 
 
 tried to kill each other, yet we meet with joy 
 and part in peace and good-will. I cannot 
 meet that man so. I am angry when I think 
 of him. I have determined on violence at 
 sight of him. Vengeance is due him for the 
 vile part he acted." 
 
 "George," said the Captain, "One above- 
 all has said, * Vengeance is mine.' That man 
 robbed your mother, and is despicable. If you 
 take vengeance on him you will be as bad as 
 he, for you will rob God of his own — venge- 
 ance. Vengeance is not ours, it is God's. Jack 
 and I have talked it over. AVe have deter- 
 mined in no case to remember the past against 
 any who have wronged us or ours; to forgive 
 and be at peace with all men — only to resort 
 to violence when they reject peace and force 
 us to harm them. That, I think, is Christ's 
 teaching. We are his soldiers; let us be brave 
 enough to obey him and be like him. He is 
 the Captain of our salvation. The good sol- 
 dier obeys.'^ 
 
 " Well," said George, " I have followed you 
 where death reveled. When others fled you 
 
Returning to the Old Homestead. 205 
 
 and Jack stood firm, and I tried not to forsake 
 you." 
 
 "You never did forsake the post of peril," 
 replied Captain Donal— " you never did. Only 
 stand by your heavenly Leader as you did by 
 me, and all will be as it should be." 
 
 George still hesitated, but he looked into 
 the depths of Sophie's eager eyes as she said: 
 "I have begged you to do that, George. You 
 know it is right. Let there be no more strife, 
 no fighting over the past; and your mother 
 says so, too." 
 
 A clear, soft light shone in his eyes as he 
 answered: "I will join you and Begmer in 
 the i^ledge, Captain. As I hope to be forgiven 
 I forgive all wrongs, and will not remember 
 them against anybody by word or act." 
 
 The army comrades, who had stormed bat- 
 teries together when death dashed at them 
 every moment, united in the pledge of peace, 
 and the witnessing hills and heavens and 
 wives looked sweeter and dearer and quieter 
 because of it. 
 
 The next day they began to meet people 
 
200 Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 who had known them before the war. Some 
 greeted them joyfully, some turned away from 
 them; but they went right along. 
 
 It was a misty day on which they neared 
 their old home. The night before had stormed 
 with winds and drifting rain-falls, and the 
 clouds had not lifted. Only now and then the 
 sun shone for a few" minutes, and the vapors 
 were thick uj^on the mountains as they traw 
 eled on. They made slow headway, for the 
 road vias slippery and splashy, and the gloom- 
 iness without imparted something of its own 
 nature to them within the wagons. Still they 
 hoped i»t did not presage that their future in 
 the valley they w^ere nearing should be drear; 
 and they cheered themselves as best they 
 could. 
 
 The tramj^ing of horses meeting them 
 sounded on the eastward trail that came down 
 from the rugged heights, where the worst type 
 of Unionists had denned during the war, and 
 they noticed that the five riders were armed. 
 They too had arms, ready for the v>'orst. Thoy 
 saw by the abrupt halt of the noisy group 
 
Returning to the Old Homestead. 207 
 
 when within a few rods of them that they were 
 recognized. One of the five had been a Un- 
 ionist captain, and had fought in the army 
 awhile. He was a large, muscular, florid man; 
 rough, gross by nature and habit — a wild boar 
 of the forest that whetted his teeth even on 
 innocence when it was more or less helpless. 
 This man glared upon them; three gave them 
 a cold- salutation; while the other, who from 
 the first of the war had been at the front as 
 a brave private until disabled by wounds, 
 greeted them cheerily, dismounting when the 
 wagons came to a halt, and calling each by 
 name, even the children, warmly welcomed 
 them back to the valley. But the bally Avas 
 purple with rage, and said, *' You had best 
 go from here, quick — the people want you 
 not — we will not have it," mingling his words 
 with oaths. 
 
 Neither Captain Donal nor Jack Besmer 
 took any notice of the insult. If they were 
 to have trouble they preferred to have it with 
 those possessing at least a trait of a gentle- 
 man, not with an unkempt man whose sum of 
 
208 Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 instincts and culture was that of a ruffian, 
 however religious lie professed to be. 
 
 Leaping from his horse with drawn revolv- 
 er, he caught the bridles of the mules to turn 
 them back in the road, but his hand had barely 
 gi-asped the reins when Jack leaped from tlie 
 wagon and felled him to the ground with his 
 clubbed whip and wore it out upon him. Cap- 
 tain Donal had in ah instant put himself 
 between Jack and the other men, who had 
 drawn their weapons, and, hatchet in hand, 
 said, "I will brain the man that interferes." 
 
 Their pistols were quietly belted, and they 
 looked upon the ruffian tossing in helpless 
 rage and i)ain under the unerring blows of 
 Jack's heavy hickory whip-stock. Tired out, 
 the pale, fierce man said to his victim: "You 
 applied the scourge to more than one good 
 old helpless man during the war — that beat- 
 ing is for them." And turning to the others, 
 he said: " Men, Jim and I have come back 
 to rebuild our old home which some pf^r- 
 sons burned down in times when many could 
 scarcely know what they did. AVe have come 
 
Beturning to the Old Homestead. 209 
 
 to seek no revenges, to rekindle no strifes, but 
 to promote peace with all. AVe greeted that 
 man as we did the rest of you, in friendly 
 terms. We make no threats. We were boys 
 together. AYe are come to resume our old re- 
 lations as though no war had ever been, as 
 near as is possible to us. Let there be no 
 ill-feeling between us." And bidding them 
 good -morning, he broke the bully's pistol 
 across a rock, and hurling the pieces into the 
 gorge, he and Captain Donal moved on. 
 
 "Jimmy," said Jack, after Eeeny and the 
 children had been soothed, "that hatchet 
 vt^asn't the best thing for defense with two 
 revolvers at your breast." 
 
 "AVhy, Jack," he replied, "those men were 
 all glad to see us. They had been so long 
 overawed by your friend at whom old Jube 
 bit as he touched the reins that they handled 
 their weapons involuntarily. They enjoyed 
 the scene — I could tell by their faces. I hope 
 there will be no more such. We will forbear 
 in this instance till forbearance itself will be 
 a wrong. AYhile you were whipping that man 
 
 14: 
 
210 Joe: A Boy in the War-times.^ 
 
 I thought of poor old Crantz whom he had 
 scourged." 
 
 " I inferred as much," said Jack, "when you 
 •cried, *A little more grape. Captain Bragg! ' " 
 
 The clouds had thickened as they conversed, 
 and the thunder's echoes in the mountains, and 
 lightnings flashing on their tops, and the floods 
 of rain falling among the tossing trees, and 
 the groaning of the wagons over the stony 
 road, reminded them of some of the battle- 
 scenes of the past, except that in those they 
 looked for death at any moment, while in the 
 sublime scene of the mountain storm only a 
 strange, wild, yet subduing X3leasure met them 
 at every turn. 
 
 And the storm had rolled away. The sun 
 had broken and scattered it into drifting frag- 
 ments of dark vapor which soon took on a less 
 shaded hue and then were white, and floated 
 in the purified ether like ships of peace, with 
 full canvas, sailing in the skies. 
 
 They halted on the road-side at a rock- walled 
 spring, around which they had spent many 
 a boyhood hour, and drank of its icy waters 
 
Returning to the Old Homestead. 211 
 
 and cooled their brows in its gurgling current; 
 and Het and old Eed and Cleb and old Jube 
 enjoyed its refreshing tides and rested and 
 cooled off. 
 
 While lunching on the spring-wall, they 
 talked of the new house they should build 
 after the lands were planted, and the tent-life 
 they should live by the old home spring till 
 winter came and the new house was habitable; 
 and after Eeeny had read to them, in her sil- 
 very, low voice, the thirteenth chapter of First 
 Corinthians, they journeyed on and were soon 
 among the trees — some charred, others in glo- 
 rious foliage — where the old house's ashes were 
 whitening the clay. 
 
CHAPTEt} XVI. 
 
 A Touching Story Retold. 
 
 THE mules, left to themselves, stood in the 
 sunshine dreaming, but Het and Eed drew 
 their cart into a tree's shade, every now and 
 then lowing for joy that they had got back 
 to the old home mountains and fields and 
 streams. 
 
 The family first grouped at the spot where 
 the ashes of the family-room had fallen, then 
 went here and there apart, though Edna fol- 
 lowed at her father's side whichever way he 
 turned. They were seeing all they could of 
 the old home's ashes, trees, vines, flowers, and 
 views far and near, each heart throbbing with 
 gratitude to God who had brought them all 
 back in safety. 
 
 It was when they were all gathering from 
 
 this point and that in the yard to the cart 
 
 in the shade of the trees that old Farmer 
 
 Prenant, having risen from his dinner-table, 
 (212) 
 
A Touching Story Retold. 213 
 
 stepped out on his front porch and sat down 
 in his arm-chair to think and think and doze, 
 until the air should cool from the midday 
 heat; then, glancing around as his heart 
 recalled one and another of the things and 
 faces of the past, he beheld the group, and 
 wondered who the travelers were. But as he 
 saw a little girl dash out toward a cluster of 
 wild flowers and chase a butterfly more beau- 
 tiful than its mates, and two boys follow to 
 help her in the sport, he struggled to his feet 
 and said: "Hetty, Hetty! come here— come 
 here, ole wife. I do b'leeve yonder is Eeeny 
 an' the childern, with two men, come back. 
 Eun, now, ole gal, run ! " 
 
 Aunt Hetty was soon at the door, and giving 
 one look across the narrow, swarded meadow, 
 she rushed along the footpath in that direc- 
 tion, bare-headed, waving one hand and then 
 the other as she ran, every few steps wiping her 
 eyes with her old checkered apron flapping at 
 her waist — the old man hobbling after her, 
 loaning^ on his long staff as he moved onward. 
 The group at the trees— charmed by the chiL 
 
214 Jue: A Buy in the W(ir-timcs. 
 
 dren's racing now here, now there, as the but- 
 terfly bobbed about from flower to flower — did 
 not see the old folks till they had come more 
 than half way, when with joyful steps all hur- 
 ried to meet them. 
 
 "Why, Keeny, Eeeny!" exclaimed Aunt 
 Hetty as she fell in weeping ecstasy on her 
 neck. " Pieeny, child; it au't you, is it, honey? 
 How we have missed yer at the ole church 
 on the hill! An' it's Jimmy — an' Jack too; 
 both safe, both safe! Glory, glory, halleluiah 
 to the God of peace forever an' ever! Amen." 
 
 "An' amen," added the old farmer, puffing 
 forward to greet them. 
 
 Aunt Hetty fluttered around them, and 
 kissed the hem of Eeeny's garments, hugged 
 the children, and called Boone, and patted the 
 cows, and looked into their soft, quiet e3^es, 
 and said: "I'm a great mind ter kiss yer too 
 —fhaf I am." 
 
 When her flurry was over, she said : " rioon y, 
 come right erlong ter the house, gal, with eTim- 
 my an' the childern. Ole man, you an' Jack 
 hvuvj; them heff*ors an' mules erlong, an' the 
 
A Touching Story Betold. 215 
 
 wagins. Come right erlong; dinner's ready, 
 dinner's ready — leastways will be afore you 
 can turn roun' more'n once or twice; it's jest 
 er-longlii' fur yer ter eat it." 
 
 " We ate dinner at the old rock spring, Aunt 
 Hetty," said Eeeny. '' Let's all sit down here 
 awhile; the lads will feed the stock presently. 
 I haven't seen you half enough yet to have 
 you hiding in the kitchen from me." 
 
 " Yes," said Captain Donal, " take this chair. 
 Eeeny says she took it with her when she 
 started to Georgia because you had given it to 
 her when we were married. And here's an- 
 other for you. Uncle Prenant. Sit down; we 
 want to see you all to ourselves." 
 
 By this tiine Andy Prenant had seen them, 
 and was coming up as Jack and the boys 
 had unharnessed the stock and were feeding 
 them. He was a battle-scarred veteran Union- 
 ist—Farmer Prenant's youngest son— and he 
 greeted them all heartily; so entirely like old 
 times— seemingly with a tenderer voice and 
 manner than ever; and every heart was fresh- 
 ened with pleasure by his coming. 
 
21G Joe: A Bou in the Waf-thnes 
 
 They talked of many things — the younger 
 men lolling on the grass with the children, 
 the rest in chairs where the shade was thick- 
 est. The old people spoke of their son Frank, 
 of his soldierly conduct; that, with thousands 
 of others, he had been killed in the battle of 
 . Chickamauga, and had been buried on the 
 field, they supposed; and how they had longed 
 for the soldiers to tell them more about him 
 that woful day, but they could not after Andy 
 and he got parted in the fight. 
 
 An hour later in the chat, Captain Donal 
 reverted to Frank, and said: *'Aunt Hetty, you 
 used to love me as a son, I thought." 
 
 "Yes, yes, Jimmy — that I did; an' jest as 
 much now. God bless you, boy! You an' 
 Jack an' Andy an' poor Frank used to 'mind 
 me of brothers; an' in the last letter Frank 
 ever writ to us he said, 'Send word to "Lit- 
 tle Sister " that I love her more'n ever, ef you 
 ever find out where them wretches driv her 
 to.' " 
 
 "And," continued the Captain, "Andy and 
 Frank seemed almost as near to me and Jack 
 
A Touching Story Betold. 217 
 
 as we were to eacli other. We differed about 
 the war, but we had no hard words; and we 
 felt like brothers fighting against brothers, I 
 presume." 
 
 "Yes," interrupted Andy, "Frank often said 
 he never coald hurt you or Jack knowingly, 
 no matter how fierce the fight." 
 
 "It was a furious battle at Chickamauga," 
 continued Captain Donal, "where the bravest 
 were tested to the depths; and Frank fought 
 in the thickest of it till he fell." 
 
 "Did you see him, Jimmy? did you see 
 him?" Aunt Hetty yearningly inquired. 
 
 He went on with his narrative as though he 
 had not heard her eager words nor seen her 
 awesome look, and he said: " Pieeny sent little 
 Joe to find me and Jack, and he got to the 
 battle the second day — he and old Boone that 
 Frank used to frolic and hunt with so much; 
 and all day long till near the battle's close he 
 and Boone were hunting for me in the thick 
 of the fight this way and that, for he was too 
 young or too anxious to think of danger. He 
 missed Boone at last, but after a little he heard 
 
218 Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 liim howling a few Imndred yards away, in the 
 woods where the bombs and bullets had done 
 terrible work. He went to the spot, and old 
 •Boone was lying down at a wounded soldier's 
 feet, howling as if his heart would break. Joe 
 saw that it was Frank, and he gave him water 
 from his canteen, and got him to take some 
 wine and brown bread that his mother had 
 sent to me and Jack. I passed near enough 
 in the battle for Boone to scent me, and the 
 first I knew of it he was licking my hand and 
 acting so strangely that I followed him to 
 where Joe was kneeling down by Frank try- 
 ing to help him. Frank knew mo, but he was 
 too near the other world. Aunt Hetty, to last 
 much longer. I took his head in my lap, got 
 him to drink a little more wine — it was hard 
 for him to swallow — and it wasn't long before 
 he stretched out his hand and clasped mine, 
 and said: 'It's all up with me, Jimmy. Tell 
 mother and father how I died at my post fight- 
 ing for the old flag, my face to the foe; and 
 tell mother it is all right with mo, it is all 
 right with me and heav — heaven. I am go- 
 
A Touching Story Retold. 219 
 
 ing there, I know. Good-by.' And lie was 
 gone up to God from my lap, Aunt Hetty, 
 looking as brave as liis father, yet gentle and 
 good as you." 
 
 Aunt Hetty had leaned down on Eeeny's 
 lap, weeping silently, and the old farmer and 
 Andy had gathered tloser to Captain Donal 
 as he went on with the narrative, saying: 
 "Jack and I and Joe slept by him that night, 
 and the next morning we made for him the 
 best coffin we could out of some ceiling that we 
 took from a house a mile or so away; and we 
 shrouded him in Jack's blanket, as it was the 
 best, and buried him where he died; and we 
 prayed — prayed there over him for Uncle Pre- 
 nant and you." 
 
 There was a shudder in the aged mother's 
 frame, and smothered sobs; but she lifted her 
 fair old face toward heaven, and said: " O 
 thank God! O how I do thank him for that 
 burial!" 
 
 "An' we thank you too, b'ys," said the old 
 man; "an' you too, fur all the kind ways you 
 had erbout him." 
 
220 Joe : A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 Aunt Hetty stretclied out lier ^vitherod 
 Lauds and pulled little Joe down on her 
 bosom and caressed him lovingly, and said: 
 *'Toa are brave an' good like your father, 
 an' — an' like — like my jjoor lost Frank. God 
 bless you, Joe! " 
 
 The Captain paused till her feelings were 
 controlled, and said: "When we determined 
 to move back here, brother Jack and I and 
 little Joe took Het and old Eed and the cart 
 and went to the battle-ground, not twenty 
 miles from the caoins, and dug Frank up and 
 put another box over his old one, and brought 
 him along with us." 
 
 Aunt Hetty stood up now, then clasped her 
 hands and knelt down by her sobbing hus- 
 band, and looked into the Captain's face as 
 though angel tidings were coming to her, and 
 she would not live if she missed a single note. 
 
 " Little Joe drove the cart," continued the 
 Captain, "for he said he would jolt Frank 
 least of any. So we brought Frank with us. 
 We tliought may l)e you would all like to have 
 him where you could i)ut flowers on his grave; 
 
A Touching Story Betold. 221 
 
 and Eeeny and the children have kept him 
 covered with all the prettiest flowers and 
 mosses they could gather on the way. And 
 that's why the cart is festooned with vines 
 and flowers, as you see, and the wagon is not/' 
 
 The story was told, and battle-scarred Andy 
 said: "It is a soldier's deed, and yet a wom- 
 an's. Mother always said you reminded her 
 of Euth in the Bible, and would add, *But 
 he's David when the full time comes.' " 
 
 No more was said then; all seemed to be 
 communing with their own hearts. 
 
 Presently Reeny and Aunt Hetty went quiet- 
 ly to the flower-laden cart, and old Farmer 
 Prenant and Andy followed. They looked 
 awhile upon the box, covered with evergreens 
 and blossoms; and as they sedately came 
 back to the chairs, Reeny took a curly lock 
 of brown hair from her bosom and gave it to 
 Aunt Hetty, saying: "Joseph brought it to 
 me from the Chickamauga battle-field. His 
 Uncle Jack clipi^ed it from next Frank's left 
 temple." 
 
 And Aunt Hetty pressed it to her lips and 
 
222 Joe: A Boy in the Witr-t(7ucs. 
 
 held it tightly, as though it were more pre- 
 cious than rubies. 
 
 Andy and other messengers went to and 
 fro in the valleys and mountains around, all 
 that afternoon. 
 
Peace PVIeans Peace with Brave Men. 
 
 THE next morinug tlie trails and roads in 
 the hills and valleys for several miles 
 around were alive with people — afoot, on 
 horseback, in carts, in wagons — going toward 
 old Farmer Prenant's. Serious old people, 
 mild-eyed children, subdued young men and 
 maidens, old and young soldiers of late re- 
 turned from both armies, traveled together. 
 The story of Captain Donal's return, bring- 
 ing Frank's remains with him, had sped from 
 valley to valley, from dingle to dell, from hill 
 to cliff, and they were gathering to rebury 
 Frank. After the beautiful Methodist burial 
 service had been read by the minister, and he 
 had pronounced the benediction at the new- 
 made grave, old Farmer , Prenant, his white 
 hair hanging about his shoulders, stood in 
 the midst and said: "My friends, the day uv 
 
 war hev had its way with us. Its ways is 
 
 (223) 
 
224 Joe: A Boy in the War-times. 
 
 fullest uv sorrows nur glories ter the people 
 uv er country. Er few rich folk, an' er few- 
 sick folk, an' er few mean folk, an' the poli- 
 tishiners, sech as kings an' congressers an' er- 
 wantin' ter be sech, kin hide outen its way uv 
 loss an' blood an' death arter er-bringin' it 
 on by tlier liquor-feasts an' lusts uv hate an' 
 I)ower. The people, though, has ter stan' it, 
 an' fight it out, souls an' bodies, an' all they's 
 got, ontwil it's done. Our'n is done. We all 
 fit in it, one way or ernother. We gin our 
 pervisions, an' our stock, an' ourselves, an' 
 our b'ys ter the war; an' we've fit through it 
 best we could, more or less. AVe hev been er 
 mixed up, divided nabohood in these parts. 
 Er man hev er right ter his own sense uv duty 
 — it are er right uv er freeman; an' we've 
 fit from north to south erbout it ontwil the 
 war is done. 
 
 " Some uv you, on both sides, hev lived 
 through it, an' many hev lost ther dearest 
 ones. We mourn together from the ice-lakes 
 ter the orange-lakes. One uv my b'ys, you 
 know, fell in Furginny with some uv y our'n. 
 
Peace Means Peace with Brave Men. 225 
 
 on both sides, an' went np together ter the 
 great white throne. An' one uv my b'ys, our 
 Frank, fell at Chickamaugy, an' bled ter death 
 in the lovin' rebel arms of his old playmates, 
 Jimmy Donal an' Jack Besmer, who fit on 
 t'other side, an' brought him, arter many 
 months, ter be reburied ermong us, on the 
 little hill whar he were borned more'n thirty 
 year agone. It were a peaceful deed them 
 b'ys done, ter stop fightin' ter try an' save 
 Frank; it were er peacefuller deed they done 
 ter bring him home arter the war, covered 
 with flowers, ter Hetty an' me. 
 
 "Peace is come. The war are done. Let 
 him that felt an' talked strife do so no more; 
 let him that fit at home, or in the army, fight 
 no more. B'ys, b'ys, women-folk an' childern, 
 let us all now try fer them things that make 
 fer good-will an' fer peace." 
 
 They all. Federal and Confederate, knew 
 the old white-headed octogenarian Unionist 
 —that he was a born hero, a heaven-bound 
 Christian, a true, patriotic citizen-neighbor — 
 and his words hid in their hearts; and they 
 
226 Joe: A Boy In the Wur-tinics. 
 
 sepai'ated, reinspired with mutual good-will, 
 going this way and that to their several 
 homes. 
 
 Many made it convenient to pass the spot 
 where Captain Donal and Jack Besmer, with 
 Heeny and the children, were lingering with 
 uncovered heads to greet them pleasantly; 
 and W'hen one and another Union soldier, 
 tried in the fire of many battles, greeted them 
 joyfully, the people knew^ that peace meant 
 peace with brave men; and they spread the glad 
 thought among themselves, thenceforth, in 
 word and deed. 
 
 THE END 
 
RARE BOOK 
 COLLECTION 
 
 THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 AT 
 
 CHAPEL HILL 
 
 Wilmer 
 115