Newberry.—The wagon
trip across country was glorious! I, the invalid, was made comfortable on a
cotton mattress, spread on the body of the wagon, and Lise and Ernestine, and
the gentlemen in attendance, did all things possible for my comfort and
well-being. Even the wagon drivers were good to me, and the very mules seemed
to regard "the sick lady" compassionately out of mild eyes and
patient. One night, we slept in the beautiful country home of the Means';
another at the Subers'; and the other—oh! night of nights we camped out!
Vividly do I recall the minutest detail connected with that night in the
woods-the pink line that flushed the western sky, the slowly descending
twilight, the soft curves of the hills, the winding courses of the roadways,
the sleeping cattle, the sloping meadows, the flitting figures of the teamsters
about the blazing fire, the brooding solitude, the stillness of the midnight
hour. The others breathed softly, in deep repose, and I lay with face upturned
and eyes opened to the tender benediction of the stars, and then it was that,
with every mysterious inspiration of the night, a picture of the scene was
painted on the canvas of memory. I must put on record a very singular incident
which occurred during this cross-country journey: We stopped at midday near a
farmhouse, to rest the teams and procure a drink of cool water. Seeing us, the
farmer came out to the well and cordially invited us to enter, which we gladly
did, and while conversing quietly together on the piazza, one of us—it must
have been Lise, for she is always the first to see everything happening to look
overhead, espied the United States flag, and the American eagle, drawn in
colors on the ceiling. The sight was electrical; it struck us with a shock.
"But why should
it shock us?" asked one of the gentlemen. "It is merely an evidence
that our host is a Unionist. Every man to his own notion, say I! But it means
nothing to us."
It did to me; it
meant a great deal; I looked upon those emblems with a superstitious eye.
"We are invincible!" was their language to me; "we are over your
heads, and there we are going to stay!" Little did I dream how soon this
imaginative interpretation would be literally verified.
We had heard before leaving
Charlotte that the advance guard of the Union forces had entered Richmond a day
or two after our departure, but that was all we knew. Now, another singular
thing happened. While we still sat together on that piazza, under the wings of
the American eagle and the folds of the star spangled banner, there came along
a soldier in gray. He was dirty, and ragged, and barefooted, and he looked on
the ground sadly as he moved upon his way, walking slowly, as if he had come
from afar and felt footsore and weary. Mr. C— ran out upon the roadside and
accosted him. Was there any news?
The man answered,
"News? Wall, yes; I reckon there is! Ain't yer heared it?"
"No, indeed. We
have heard nothing. What is it?"
There was a ghastly
silence. This piece of news seemed to be an unutterable thing for the soldier
in gray.
"Do speak! For
God's sake, what is it?"
Then the man in gray
lifted his bowed head slowly, and replied: "Lee has surrendered!"
"It is not
true! It cannot be true!"
But it was true.
"Wasn't I
there?" asked the soldier, whose voice sounded as if his heart were
broken. "Wasn't I there when it happened on the 9th of April?"
What more was there
to be said? Failure is a bitter thing, but I think the only way to meet it is
in silence and with courage.
SOURCE: South
Carolina State Committee United Daughters of the Confederacy, South
Carolina Women in the Confederacy, Vol. 1, “A Confederate
Girl's Diary,” p. 285-6
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