When the boys reached home it was
pitch-dark. They found their mother very anxious
about them. They gave an account of the “battle,”
as they called it, telling all about the charge, in
which, by their statement, the General and Hugh did
wonderful deeds. Their mother and Cousin Belle
sat and listened with tightly folded hands and blanched
faces.
Then they told how they found the
wounded Yankee soldier on the bank, and about his
death. They were startled by seeing their Cousin
Belle suddenly fall on her knees and throw herself
across their mother’s lap in a passion of tears.
Their mother put her arms around the young girl, kissed
and soothed her.
Early the next morning their mother
had an ox-cart (the only vehicle left on the place),
sent down to the spot to bring the body of the soldier
up to Oakland, so that it might be buried in the grave-yard
there. Carpenter William made the coffin, and
several men were set to work to dig the grave in the
garden.
It was about the middle of the day
when the cart came back. A sheet covered the
body. The little cortege was a very solemn one,
the steers pulling slowly up the hill and a man walking
on each side. Then the body was put into the
coffin and reverently carried to the grave. The
boys’ mother read the burial service out of the
prayer-book, and afterward Uncle William Slow offered
a prayer. Just as they were about to turn away,
the boys’ mother began to sing, “Abide
with me; fast falls the eventide.” She
and Cousin Belle and the boys sang the hymn together,
and then all walked sadly away, leaving the fresh mound
in the garden, where birds peeped curiously from the
lilac-bushes at the soldier’s grave in the warm,
light of the afternoon sun.
A small packet of letters and a gold
watch and chain, found in the soldier’s pocket,
were sealed up by the boys’ mother and put in
her bureau drawer, for they could not then be sent
through the lines. There was one letter, however,
which they buried with him. It contained two
locks of hair, one gray, the other brown and curly.
The next few months brought no new
incidents, but the following year deep gloom fell
upon Oakland. It was not only that the times were
harder than they had ever been though the
plantation was now utterly destitute; there were no
provisions and no crops, for there were no teams.
It was not merely that a shadow was settling down on
all the land; for the boys did not trouble themselves
about these things, though such anxieties were bringing
gray hairs to their mother’s temples.
The General had been wounded and captured
during a cavalry fight. The boys somehow connected
their Cousin Belle with the General’s capture,
and looked on her with some disfavor. She and
the General had quarrelled a short time before, and
it was known that she had returned his ring.
When, therefore, he was shot through the body and taken
by the enemy, the boys could not admit that their
cousin had any right to stay up-stairs in her own
room weeping about it. They felt that it was
all her own fault, and they told her so; whereupon
she simply burst out crying and ran from the room.
The hard times grew harder. The
shadow deepened. Hugh was wounded and captured
in a charge at Petersburg, and it was not known whether
he was badly hurt or not. Then came the news
that Richmond had been evacuated. The boys knew
that this was a defeat; but even then they did not
believe that the Confederates were beaten. Their
mother was deeply affected by the news.
That night at least a dozen of the
negroes disappeared. The other servants said
the missing ones had gone to Richmond “to get
their papers.”
A week or so later the boys heard
the rumor that General Lee had surrendered at a place
called Appomattox. When they came home and told
their mother what they had heard, she turned as pale
as death, arose, and went into her chamber. The
news was corroborated next day. During the following
two days, every negro on the plantation left, excepting
lame old Sukey Brown. Some of them came and said
they had to go to Richmond, that “the word had
come” for them. Others, including even
Uncle Balla and Lucy Ann, slipped away by night.
After that their mother had to cook,
and the boys milked and did the heavier work.
The cooking was not much trouble, however, for black-eyed
pease were about all they had to eat.
One afternoon, the second day after
the news of Lee’s surrender, the boys, who had
gone to drive up the cows to be milked, saw two horsemen,
one behind the other, coming slowly down the road on
the far hill. The front horse was white, and,
as their father rode a white horse, they ran toward
the house to carry the news. Their mother and
Cousin Belle, however, having seen the horsemen, were
waiting on the porch as the men came through the middle
gate and rode across the field.
It was their father and his body-servant,
Ralph, who had been with him all through the war.
They came slowly up the hill; the horses limping and
fagged, the riders dusty and drooping.
It seemed like a funeral. The
boys were near the steps, and their mother stood on
the portico with her forehead resting against a pillar.
No word was spoken. Into the yard they rode at
a walk, and up to the porch. Then their father,
who had not once looked up, put both hands to his
face, slipped from his horse, and walked up the steps,
tears running down his cheeks, and took their mother
into his arms. It was a funeral the
Confederacy was dead.
A little later, their father, who
had been in the house, came out on the porch near
where Ralph still stood holding the horses.
“Take off the saddles, Ralph,
and turn the horses out,” he said.
Ralph did so.
“Here, here’s
my last dollar. You have been a faithful servant
to me. Put the saddles on the porch.”
It was done. “You are free,” he said
to the black, and then he walked back into the house.
Ralph stood where he was for some
minutes without moving a muscle. His eyes blinked
mechanically. Then he looked at the door and at
the windows above him. Suddenly he seemed to
come to himself. Turning slowly, he walked solemnly
out of the yard.