Another day still finds us marching in dust and under a
scorching sun. The heat has indeed been intense. Many a poor soldier has fallen
out on the way from exhaustion and sunstroke. We have passed through Newtown
and Middletown, both of which were nearly deserted, and those left are bitter
secessionists. We have been chasing the enemy, which accounts for our marching
so hard; its rear guard left Newtown as we entered it. We camped for dinner
here and to wait for stragglers to catch up.
An amusing thing occurred here. Three young officers,
Lieutenants D. G. Hill, G. P. Welch and myself, went to the only hotel to get
dinner, but found the front door locked and the blinds all drawn. The back yard
and garden containing vegetables, fruit trees, flowers, etc., in luxuriance,
was inclosed by a high brick wall about eight feet high with an entrance on a
side street. A matronly-looking attendant unlocked the door at our request, and
admitted us to the garden and back door of the hotel, which stood open to the
kitchen, which we entered, the attendant remaining within hearing. Here we
found the landlady, who declared in an assumed, distressed manner that she had
nothing in the house to eat, the enemy having taken everything she had, at the
same time relating a tale of woe which I presumed might be partially true, if
not wholly so. Soon, however, after parleying, she produced a plate of fine hot
tea biscuit, nervously forcing them into our very faces, saying, "Have
biscuit! have biscuit!" which, rest assured, we did.
After this I started to leave. The colored woman who had
admitted us, having heard all that was said, hid by the corner of the house en
route to the garden entrance, and when I passed shyly told me that a table in
the parlor where the curtains were down, was loaded down with a steaming hot
dinner with the best the house afforded, prepared for a party of rebel officers
who had fled about when it was ready because of the approach of our army. I
returned to the kitchen bound to have that dinner just because it had been
prepared for rebel officers and told the landlady what I had discovered, and
that we must have that dinner, but were willing to pay her for it.
Seeing she was outmanoeuvered and that her duplicity was discovered, she looked
scared and laughing nervously led the way to the parlor, where we found the table
actually groaning with steaming viands as though prepared for and awaiting us.
She graciously bade us be seated, presided at the table with dignity and grace
as though nothing had happened, and we met her with equal suavity, laughter and
dignity as though she was the greatest lady living, she admitting when through,
that she had had a “real good time.” We paid for the dinner and parted good
friends.*
_______________
* The landlady had a young son — a lad — who a few years
later, after the war, graduated from West Point and was assigned to the Sixth
U. S. Cavalry, my regiment. One evening years afterwards in quarters at Camp
Apache, A. T., among other stories I related this to a lot of officers, when
Lieutenant , who was present, to my surprise informed me it was of his mother
we got our dinner ,and that he had heard her laughingly relate the incident. He
was a good officer and fellow, but knowing what rabid secessionists some
members of the family were, including himself, the charm of his friendship was
gone, but I never let him know it. He is now many years dead. The landlady was
very stubborn, and unwilling to oblige us until cornered, when her detected
duplicity disconcerted her, and with a nervous laugh she yielded to our demand
because she thought she had to. Otherwise we should have only helped ourselves
in a courteous way and paid her for what we got.
SOURCE: Lemuel Abijah Abbott, Personal Recollections
and Civil War Diary, 1864, p. 132-4
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