CARROLL COUNTY TN - CIVIL WAR - War Leaflets by Annie Cole Hawkins
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(This was a handwritten account of the Civil War in McKenzie. Mrs. Mary Stewart
is owner of the book and gave permission for printing. Mrs. Hawkins was the
sister of Mrs. Stewart's mother, this book was hand illustrated on almost every
page. 
       By Annie Cole Hawkins 

                                    Preface 
About twenty-five years ago, yielding to the request of over partial friends, I
was beguiled into writing some of the incidents and happenings of the great
cruel war, which we, a while back had passed through. These sketches, crude and
imperfect as they are, I will copy for the perusal of the old time friends and
their children. Many of the characters have died since these little war leaflets
were written, time has changed, and people changed with it, and I am no
exception to the general rule.

It was not for the eye of the critic, but for the loving eyes of kind friends
who can better understand and appreciate the motive that prompt me to write my
own memories and experiences of those awful days. 

I am trying to treat little incidents and trifles truthfully and naturally as
they actually happened. I hope I have not gone beyond the bounds of propriety,
and may meet a charitable judgment of those, of some of the old time friends who
are still living, and of those who come after them. 

If what I have written shall serve to amuse an idle hour, or rescue from
oblivion anything worthy of remembrance I shall feel amply paid for my time and
labor. 
Yours truly, 
Annie Cole Hawkins McKenzie, Tennessee 

                                 WAR LEAFLETS 

My earliest recollection of the public affairs date back to the time of the
execution of John Brown at Harper's Ferry in Virginia. I can remember the dark
oppressive fears we children had of the Negroes rising, as it was called. 

We could see no special reason for these fears. My father owned some Negroes and
in daytime it seemed impossible to associate such thoughts and suspicions with
the familiar, satisfied, sable faces that surrounded us, but when night came we
would assemble in a corner by the fireside and talk, and tell in whispers of how
the Negroes were holding secret meetings everywhere in the South, planning and
thirsting for our blood. 

We pictured in our childish imagination how they would come at the dark hour of
midnight, armed with hoes, axes, and clubs to knock down, drag out and slay on
every side as they came to us. Our parents never talked such things to us but
the fear was there. We would go to sleep with it in nervous terror We had heard
of John Brown's mad attempt to free slaves in Virginia, his subsequent hanging
with the comments and opinions that generally follow such tragic episodes. 

At that time, John Brown's name was familiar in every house- hold and always
associated with the whispers of the "uprising" of Negroes. 

Although we passed the time and enjoyed the days in our homes, our, parents felt
that peace was going or had gone from our country. 

In the year of 1860, the papers were full of secession talk and the matter was
the topic of conversation at the tables, firesides, and wherever acquaintances
met. Some were slow to accept or believe the suggestions of a coming war while
others less confident looked with ominous dread on the gathering cloud that was
destined ere long to drench our fair southern land with blood. 

When President Lincoln called for seventy-five thousand men to coerce and over-
throw secession, gloom and dread hung over the land, and the bravest of our
southern sons felt it their duty to shoulder the muskets and march out to defend
the land of their birth. 

I am not trying to write history. Volumes have been written recounting the
causes of that great war and many true souls now live who still remember those
sad farewells when our brave boys in gray started with proud steps and youthful
hopes far away to fight and die if need be on those dark and bloody battle
fields. There are many brave hearts who yet shudder at the recollections of that
awful period when thousands of firesides were darkened by its shadows, and
mothers, wives, daughters, sisters, and sweethearts were left alone to wait and
hope for the return of those loved ones who never came back. 

I was too young at the beginning of the war, to realize the danger and trouble
that threatened our country, but the memory of my mother's tear-stained face,
and the anxious, fearful look that shone on my father's brow, will never be
erased from my memory. 

I remember how my joyous feelings and happy playfulness was held in check by a
sight of their troubled faces, and in two years after when the war was at its
worst, how often I stopped in the midst of some pleasant game or play to listen
with fear and trembling, to the horrible details of the last battle, or some
terrible destruction of the enemy. 

At such times I would go off alone to weep, and wish for the war to stop, only
in a few hours to forget and feel gay and happy again. Some of the happiest
hours of my life were spent amid the exciting scenes of the great Civil War, and
tales and reminiscences of that unfortunate period will be a fascinating subject
to me always in spite of the years that have flown since our brave and beloved
old hero, Gen. Robert E. Lee, gave up and surrendered his ragged but unconquered
boys at Appomattox. 

My father was past the age for military duties and my brothers too young to know
what war and fighting meant, but we had a cousin who had spent part of his child
days with us whom we loved as a brother, who did go off to war. There are many
of our old play-mates and friends, who have not forgotten little Richmond
Crawford, bright, rosy-faced Rich. I shall ever remember how one day he brought
out and drew from its motheaten cover an old rusty sword which our paternal
grandfather had carried in the days of revolutionary fame. How his face beamed
with pride as he sat polishing the old sword with a woolen rag and showing us
how he would go into the battles and slay those Lincolnites on every side.

He was too young for the service that first year, but days, months, and years
passed and the time came when honor compelled him to go and risk his young life
in the cause of the South. Poor boy. He came home once dressed in soldier
clothes, sat in the home circle by the fireside, and told to the eager listeners
of cold, wet, hungry, sleepless nights, and then the jokes and funny experiences
of camp life at which we all laughed in spite of the tears of pity and sympathy,
for the soldier lad who after a few short, half-happy days left us again in
tears to join his comrades in arms and was one of the many who never returned. 

Dear, adopted brother, though you sleep beneath the soil of a strange and
distant land, and thoughtless feet tread over your head, we loved you and will
never forget you.

It is amusing to think of how the children caught on and took in the times in
the early part of the war. 

The little boys played soldier, fought battles, and put each other in prison.
The girls would get off together and play like they were the brides of big
captains in the army. 

One time in '61 we were spending the night with Nannie Snead and after supper
when the cooks had left the kitchen, we stole in there to play housekeeping. 

Our little Negro maids always shared equally in our plays. Nannie's little black
maid, Sall, played like she was Mrs. Captain Grundy and made her playhouse in a
corner where there was an old fashioned cupboard.

We had gotten fairly settled down to housekeeping when Nannie's mother concluded
she would go down to the kitchen and see what mischief we were up to. She
brought the handy switch always ready for action and came silently in unobserved
by any of us. Taking view of the whole scene of amateur house- keepers, she
spied Sall standing on a high stool reaching up in the cupboard, and asked in a
mild tone, what are you doing up there? 

The little Negro thinking it was the voice of one of us lady callers answered,
"Oh, I'm des er dittin er little drease ter drease taptain drundy's head."

One light soft rap of the hickory across the little black legs brought Mrs.
Captain Grundy off the stool head over heels. The housekeeping was broken up and
we were marched off to bed. When the battles and great struggle commenced in
earnest, I was just getting old enough to enjoy life. 

Our home was in the country and surrounded by every comfort and the most
pleasant associations. Our house was known for miles around as a center of
cheerful hospitality. My father's family was too large to look novel like but
was just the thing for spicy reality.

I had two grown sisters, Susan and Mary, and Sallie younger than myself besides
the two little brothers, James and John, and the baby sister Beulah. 

We all had our friends and associations and our days were spent in pleasure and
excitement from dewy morn till dusky eve. We rode to school at Caledonia
College, which was three miles from our house. 

My father and other farmers round old Caledonia built a long shed with stalls
for our horses to stand in during the long day. Many of the boys who had no
claim in the stable and fed their animals under the trees near by. 

Sometimes we were carried to and from school in buggies and family carriages
driven and attended by Negro slaves. We carried corn for the horses in little
white cotton sacks attached to the saddle. Our dinner in a tin bucket swung on
the left arm, a riding switch in the right hand and our books last but not least
hung in a reticule with long straps on our necks and shoulders. 

It is pleasant to recall and think ,of the days of laughter and song when school
hours closed. The girls and boys mounting the horses while some whirled off in
buggies and carriage. Others walking in groups to the near boarding houses. Each
and all happy or miserable as the cases might be in the thought and plans of
tomorrow. 

The horse back riders were happiest of all and quite a number had to start out
on our road among whom were Reuben Burdet, Lue and Billie Dinwiddie, Bernard
Gordon. Jack Swain, Armstead Gordon, Wash Ridley, Brutus Gaines, Bettie and John
Harris, John Pate, Tom Barker, Mollie Baker, Sallie McKenzie, and four brothers,
John, Albert, George and Malcolm. 

Professor E. H. Randle, was the principal and the rules of school were that the
boys and girls would not ride together or run the horses. 

We would ride off laughing and talking while the boys came slowly along behind
till we got out of sight of the faculty and in to the main road. Then we would
begin to ride slow, and the boys to ride faster. Somehow, not intentionally, of
course, we would all get together and then challenge each other, for a race
galloping off down the long shady road with the book satchels dancing up and
down on our backs and the empty corn sacks flying in and out in every direction.


Sometimes we would all sing together a revised version of the first war song,
"John Brown Body Lies Moldering in the Grave"; we fairly shouted the chorus,
Glory, Glory in secession as we go marching on. The beautiful green woods, far
and near, ringing with our happy voices. "Such fun and pleasure too nice to last
gradually ceased is the excitement of war increased." 

The Yankee troops began to make raids taking our best horses, bridles, and
saddles, and destroying the carriages and buggies. The college boys who were old
enough went out to fight, and some of the girls to distant places never to sing
and laugh in the dear old halls and rooms again.

The school was broken up, the college deserted and left to the bats and owls
till some heartless wretch burned it to the ground. The dear old building that
had for so long echoed the happy voices of a quiet, loving and peaceful
community. I shall never forget my feelings when a company of home-made Yankees
came and took Reelie, my school horse.

As I sat at the window and saw them lead the horse away, thinking of the
hardships it would suffer at their hands, I prayed for a company of southern
soldiers to come and attack them. I believe I could have joined in the fray. Oh!
I thought my heart was breaking that day. I couldn't cry and didn't want anybody
to look at me. 

Sister Sallie was so mischievous she would walk around me and repeat: 

My bird is dead, said Nancy Ray, My bird is dead, I cannot play. 

And when a little Negro came under the window and said "Miss Annie, de Yankums
done got Reelie and gone wid him", I grabbed an old almanac and sailed it at his
innocent head. In times afterward, I became used to seeing fine horses led away
by the blue coats, but nothing touched me like seeing my school horse taken by
the home-made Yankees. 

I will say here for the understanding of my young readers that what we called
home-made Yankees were southern men who had joined the North and were fighting
against their own country and committing ravages in their native state. 

MY first vivid impression of war and what our soldiers had to suffer was during
a day and nights encampment of a regiment of Confederate soldiers near our home.


They were on a long march through the country , tired, hungry and some of them
sick. Detachments were sent out over the neighborhood to seek provisions for the
men and feed for the horses. 

Our cooks were set to baking bread and the rebel girls fairly bubbling over with
enthusiasm hastened to the kitchen to lend their own white dimpled hands to the
work of preparing food for the hungry boys in gray who were. standing in the
yard, in the house, sitting on the doorsteps, fences, benches, and everywhere. 

Most of them were dressed in the uniform of private and had left and given up
homes of ease and luxury for the right to wear them. 

They were too hungry to wait for the provisions to be thoroughly cooked. Some of
them stood over the ovens and begged for the half baked bread. When one of the
cooks opened the oven door, two very young fellows, in making a quick grab at
the half Cooked dough, bumped their heads together with a fearful collision. 

It was as much effort for us to keep from laughing as it had been to keep from
crying. 

There were several sick ones among them. I shall never forget how sick they
looked. Our father had them lying on a long pallet with their feet stretched out
to a good fire giving them medicine, bathing their chests with liniment, feeding
them on soup and trying to make them comfortable for a nights sleep when the
bugle sounded for them to saddle up and march. 

We thought it awful that they must rise and go with the well ones. Some of the
men having their clothing washed, had to snatch them from the water and stuff
them ringing wet into the knapsacks and rush off to obey the bugle call.

We looked with surprise and wonder at it all then, but in the days to come when
we looked back on the time as being nothing compared to other sufferings and
trials.

It was wonderful to think of how the southern people stood such awful sufferings
and at the same time kept cheerful spirits. Each confederate soldier and every
southern woman seemed to {and I believe did) make it their own individual duty
and business to uphold the cause and fight the great fight to the bitter end.

That was how, and why the South could and did fight an overpowering enemy for
four 1ong hard, bitter years.

The northern soldiers had the world to back them, had the treasury, good
clothes, good food, fine equipment, and everything else except grit. We had that
and we had it when the fighting stopped, and we have shown the world that we
have it now. 

I have seen the confederate soldiers laugh and make merry when they were half
starved and nearly frozen. 

In times of battle when we could hear the firing cannons, as we listened to the
long sullen boom-boom. I have seen pale distressed faces trying to smile and
aching, beating hearts, trying to cheer up when they knew that hundreds of our
brave boys were falling and dying so far away, and we were powerless to help
them. 

Oh! the agony of wives, mothers and sisters who waited with anxiety of the soul
to hear from the bloody ground.

By the year of 1862 home-made goods came into use. Communication with the North
had been cut off and we realized the fact that the South had been actually
dependent upon the northern factories for hundreds of articles for daily use. 

Many of the wealthiest and most cultured ladies made and wore the coarsest
homespun dresses. 

Shoes were in great demand. The farmers rudely tanned the skins of their own
cattle for shoe Leather, many or them cutting up the flaps of old saddles for
the soles.

For lights we used an iron lamp or a saucer of lard with a cotton wick or
sometimes a ball from the sycamore tree. The tallow candle being a supreme light
for the parlor.

Coffee and sugar became a memory. We roasted rye, wheat, dried potatoes and
sometimes okra seeds as a substitute for coffee and for sugar sorghum was the
sole reliance.

Such things could be obtained sometimes through the blockade runners but of
course the mass of the people had to go without. School books, pens, and pencils
were too scarce to mention. Our parents would have to cut a pencil into several
parts and divide it out among us.

Those who had on hand a supply of shoes and clothing from the northern factories
began to save them to wear on special occasions. But in the last two years of
the War a southern girl was not considered in the swim unless she wore a home
spun dress and the confederate hat which was plaited and fashioned at home. The
homemade shoes worried us more than anything else. We used to say that we
couldn't walk graceful enough with our feet in raw hides. I had a pret~ pair of
northern make which I treasured and saved to wear to church and when I went to
the parties. I always spoke of them as my party shoes. I would recognize a
fragment of those shoes today. 

We even had homemade beads, gathering the little seeds from a kind of lilly or
flag that used to grow in profusion in our yards and gardens and after boiling
them in wood ashes to remove the black husk, we would string the little pearly
seeds, which had a soft pith through the center as if intended for the purpose,
and would discard the prettiest necklace for the sake of wearing them. 

How vividly I can recall the picture of Sister Sallie and Sallie McKenzie as
they sat bent over a bowl or saucer of seeds stringing the confederate beads. 

I remember I made a pretty string and carried them to school and made trade for
a long lead pencil with Mo11y Stephens. the beauty, and belle of school who took
such a 1ively interest in the war and loved the Confederacy. 

She wore them in preference to anything finer, and called them her confederate
pearls. Sweet, bright, Mollie, loved by everyone. Death closed her beautiful
brown eyes in this world and she went to that far away home of the soul before
the cruel war was over.

We are so often reminded of those past sorrows and pleasures by a sound or a
gentle breeze, the sweet perfume of a flower or, who can listen to the sad
mournful song of the whippoorwill and not think on the long ago, or of some lost
friend and playmate. 

There was no treat for the southern girls like the coming of confederate
soldiers. No sight so pretty as a long column of boys in gray uniforms with
pistols buckled round them, and guns and sabers at their sides. All mounted on
beautiful horses. We always waved our hands and handkerchiefs in appreciation
when they would yell, 'Hurrah.. for Jeff Davis and southern confederacy." 

The whole earth would seem to ring with melody as they sang together, "The
Bonnie Blue Flag", and "The Girl I Left Behind Me." 

One day when General Forrest's command was passing and the men and boys were
cheering and singing all along the line. a brave handsome little fellow, not yet
out of his teens, was riding in the rear and singing in a sweet melodious voice
the words: 

They have dressed me up In soldier's clothes And treated me so kindly I'll go to
the war And fight for the rights And the girl I left behind me. 

We school girls had never seen anything so pretty and romantic, of course,
cheered and waved at him with, our whole soul. Those were days of romance and
excitement with a succession of welcomes and farewells in which we younger girls
in our way shared with the older ones. 

Every time a new regiment or company of soldiers came in, we would claim a new
sweetheart. 

It was a great pleasure and quite the thing for the rebel to make tiny
confederate flags and present to the boys in gray. All the scraps of silk and
ribbon were gathered and saved for the purpose. A party of girls get together
and each make a bonnie flag for the soldier boy, the darling of her heart. We
set our nicest stitches on them. and passed many a happy hour in joking and
trying to find out who was to get each one's flag. My confident, and best
friend. Bettie Snead, lived at Rico. She would come and stay for days at a time
at our house. We were almost inseparable and it always happened that we would
both claim the same soldier boy. 

I shall never forget one rainy day we sat and worked all the afternoon on some
little gray banners pretending to each other they were for certain young braves
in different companies and the next day when the soldiers started away one
fellow had both flags waving from his horse's head.

We had been working in secret and on the sly, but the grown girls found it out
and laughed, no little about us being set out, and rivals in love. 

Dear old Bettie, How I loved her, in spite of the funny tricks she constantly
played on me. Many were the happy hours we spent together sitting under the
stars at evening, singing the war songs and talking about our rebel sweethearts
while the katy-dids cried in the dear old trees above us. I love to hear the
dear old katy-dids cry. 

When I listen to its shrill katy-did...katy-did I am gently lifted and carried
over a wide sea of sorrow and trouble back to those happy hours and pleasant
homes. I am carried away back to those sun-shiny days when the South was
southern and friends were true and kind to each other, and when we had time to
think. talk. sing, and pray. 

On a day which I will always remember with a smile. sister Mary, and I were
standing by a large rose bush near our mother's window, Mary was, making a
bouquet for the gallant captain of a company stopping in the neighborhood and
said I could make one and present it to the orderly. 

We were talking in a high tone of voice about their fine looks, and how we would
give the flowers when mother called from the window, "Very well, young ladies, I
hear you, what are you doing out there?" 

We are gathering flowers. " What are the flowers for? "We are gathering them to
make some nice bouquets." ell, what are the bouquets for? Never mind, I heard
you talking. "We are making them for Captain Wheeler and a high private. No, you
are not going to give those flowers, today, there has been enough of that, so
you just Captain Wheeler and high private in here, and get to your knitting"
"Oh! mammy, we want to do all we can for the soldiers.. Well, then, send them
something to eat and knit socks for them. 

We answered that flowers suited better in summer than did socks but mother had
her way as she always did in such matters, and the Captain and his orderly
received no floral tributes from us that day. 

I want to tell the young girls of today that as long as there was a hank or ball
of wool yarn to be found our parents made us knit socks for the soldiers.

We were allowed to give them to our favorites after we were forced to knit them.


When sister Sallie knit her first sock, she broke down and wanted to quit. She
put up every conceivable plea to get out of the work. When we tried to shame her
for not wanting to knit but one sock, she said she just knit it for a poor one
legged soldier. 

When she finished the pair, she was so proud of the work that she kept them to
give to the first pretty soldier she saw. After a little time she thought she
had found the proper fellow, and proudly handed them over. but when she heard
that he said that I was his sweetheart she slipped to his knapsack and stole
them back to be given to the next young hero that happened to strike her fancy. 

We used to tell her that it took all summer for her to knit a pair of socks,
then she was all fall and winter trying to give them away. 

We were always glad to have a nice pair of socks for a good soldier and could
proudly say that we knit them ourselves. No, no, we didn't tell any of them that
our mother stood over us with a switch and made us knit. 

There were times and spells when we really enjoyed the work or maybe when we saw
and knew that we had it to do, we would make a lively, cheerful thing of it and
sit and rock, and knit, and sing: 

"A soldier is the lad for me 
A brave heart I adore. 
And when the sunny South is free, 
And fighting is no more, 
I'll choose me then a lover brave
From out that gallant band. 
The soldier that I love best, 
Shall have my heart and hand." 


I may add here that farther south many ladies were put in prison by the Yankees
for singing secession songs, and houses were burned for the same cause. We
always shouted our war songs when the country was full of Confederates I could
never find words to half express the feelings and experiences and the most
hateful sights we witnessed when the Yankees came. It was at Christmas in 1863
when General Smith's command came through and stopped in slow but sure, pursuit
of the dashing "wizard of the saddle", our gallant Forrest. 

There had been a lull in the passing of the enemy in this part of West Tennessee
for some little time. Our smoke houses, corn cribs, and wheat bins were filled
to the brim and we were little dreaming that the blue invaders were about to
swoop down on us like the locust of Egypt. It was a soft pleasant afternoon for
winter. Sallie and I had walked over to pay a little visit to our friend Sallie
McKenzie. 

We were enjoying a pleasant chat when George and Malcolm McKenzie came hastily
in and said the earth was covered with Yankees. We thought at first they were
joking and trying to scare us but looking out we were startled and terrified to
see thousands of blue coats halted in front of the gate, and as far back as we
could see. We saw That they intended to camp in the neighborhood that night. The
advance guards were stationed on all roads at the crossing. 

The officers and men were riding up and down the line pointing out directions,
giving orders and snorting about generally. How were we to get home through all
those horses and terrible looking men. Sallie, being naturally nervous and
easily scared, was frightened to death. We had seen and heard so much of their
cruel destruction, it was impossible for us to look on them as being human, but
I was determined to get through and go home. Scolding and petting Sallie by
turns to stop her cries I took her by the hand and started walking through the
dense blue line of Yankee Cavalry.

Walking on with beating hearts but determined steps, we passed the main body and
we were safely through and were. beginning to quicken our steps when a picket
stepped out in the road to halt us. 

Sallie expected him to hack our heads off with his saber but I was never afraid
of anything in this world and trotted on telling him we had started home. 

After we passed the pickets we sailed off in a run our feet scarcely touching
the ground. 

We fairly flew over the short distance. On reaching home, we told as fast as our
short breath would allow the terrible news that the Yankees were coming. We had
scarcely told our tale of woe when amid the Oh's and groans of our listeners the
little brothers, Jim and John, came bounding in out of breath calling for mama
to look the Yankees are coming! We know, they are Yanks by the blue coats. 

The little Negroes darted to the quarters telling in muffled voices, "de Yankums
is er comin des look et de guns, how dey do shine".

Even the dogs showed the whites of their eyes and stopped under the house. The
question and answer all round was where is papa. as if our dear father could
save us from the relentless invaders. He was returning from a walk on the
plantation and as he came in sight, he saw the long column of cavalry crawling
like huge venomous, blue snake to his home.

Knowing their destructive and thievish disposition, he stopped by the fence and
raising a couple of rails, laid a splendid watch on the fence, and placed the
rails over it, then came on home to find them swarming in the yard and grounds.
The staff of officers took possession of our house and our parlor was used for
headquarters. The camp reached from our house to Col. Garland Snead's covering a
distance of more than a mile.

The troops consisted of Dutch, all kinds of Yankees, Negroes and seemingly every
other nationality under the sun. 

I can never forget the sickening scene when they began their work of
destruction. Bursting open the doors, tearing down and burning fences and gates,
cutting, and breaking up the family carriage, killing cattle, hogs, sheep,
geese, turkeys, chickens and every living thing they could lay their cowardly
hands on except horses, Negroes and our family , and we began to think the
prowling ruffians would cut our heads off next. 

To see the little young lambs and calves and pigs running and bleating and
squealing as they were being hacked to pieces with sabers all for the sake of
destruction was horrible to behold. We had two smokehouses filled with freshly
killed and salted meat. The ruffians took all they wanted to eat and carry off
then piled the rest with the nice white lard arid made a bonfire of it right at
our window just for the sake of destroying and to keep the southern soldiers
from enjoying it.

The same vandalism was going on at Col. Snead's, Col. Bowden's and other places.

Only those who had similar experience can imagine our feelings to have the enemy
and such an enemy come and take possession of the house, table and servants
allowing us no chance to do anyway or anyhow. We had to get what we ate by
chance or by taking it from them in anyway we best could.

It being Christmas time, we had several girls and other visitors spending the
holiday with us and ,were driven and .herded, as it were, in an upper story. 

Our only chance for help was in a little Negro girl who in terror had fled from
the Negro quarters and sought refuge wid de white folks! 

We seized her and tamed her sufficiently for the trip back to the kitchen to ask
for something to eat. She was afraid to start back--said, Dey was des a killin
em po little calves and pigs des for nothin and dey sholy will kill me too."

"No, no Hannah", we pleaded, "The Yankees are good to the Negroes, They wont
hurt you, run a long and hurry back." She hesitated and said, "Dey sholy is
mean, half of dem cantt talk goo nohow, dem fine men settin at de table down
stairs talks des lack ducks roun de chicken trough". 

We tried to explain that they were Dutch and talking German. All of a sudden she
rolled her eyes at us and half whispered, "Dey aint show nuff folks no how, is
dey? We assured her that whatever they were they loved little Negroes and would
be good to her. "Maybe dey will cause one what could talk goo, done call be
Sissy, I never did hear white folks call niggers Sissy befo.

She went down stairs and out creeping, dodging, and darting through the rough
sea of men. horses and wagons to Aunt Mary's house where we were sure to get the
best she had. Poor good hearted Hannah; we will always have sympathy for her. We
girls instinctively tried to keep away from the windows" Had it been otherwise,
father's admonition was enough. 

There was a girl living in an obscure part of the neighborhood who had been
visiting friends and in returning home ran into Yankeedom before she knew it.
Being afraid to go on she took shelter at our house.

Evidently, she had never seen may soldiers or sights and doings as she witnessed
then. She was tall, and wore very long gold eardrops, it was impossible to keep
her from the windows. All our hints, cautions, letting window curtains down had
no effect. She would see!

Father was out walking the yard or the ruins and looking up he espied the girl
with the eardrops leaning far out, gaping around, taking in the sights camp
scene generally. He came back to the foot of the stairs and called me down.

I went down to him with a heart full of pity and sorrowfully asked, "What do you
want, Pappie'?" Raising his hand and shaking his finger at me in a significant
manner, he replied, "Make that long ear bob girl keep out of the window." I went
back and whispered to the rest what daddy had said. We all laughed and wondered
whether he had reference to the length of the girl or her eardrops. 

Among our visitors that night was a widow who had with her a large ugly dog and
she seemed to suffer great uneasiness concerning its welfare. We were amused at
her efforts to get the terrified animal up into our quarters. She would run from
one window to another and plead with the Yankees not to hurt Beaver, her good
dog. Then she would call, "Here, Beaver, here, come up here my good fellow."
Every time Beaver started up some of us mischievous girls would hide on the
stairs and shake a broom at the good fellow and he would slink back down stairs,
the cowack! a big Yankee would hit him on the side with the saber which brought
forth a terrific yelp that sent the widow flying to another window to beg for
Beaver's life. Our girlish natures contrived to find the ludicrous through all
this trouble, danger and humiliation.

Ours was, an April sky--- sunshine-- and rain Sometime previous to this raid,
pappie had entrusted to my care a roll of greenbacks and admonished me to let no
one know that I had it, and not even himself know where I kept it.

I had carried the money for weeks and kept the secret, feeling that he placed
more confidence in me than any of the rest. I would have fought and perhaps bled
and died by my treasure.

We could see Yankee soldiers hunting about near the corner of the house and
chimney sticking their swords in the ground, probing for buried treasures while
all the time one of the horses was tied and stood mulching its corn right over a
jar of gold our father had buried at the roots of a walnut tree near the door. 

Late that evening Dinah,a faithful slave woman for whom we shall always feel
regard and sympathy, came up and told us that the Yankees were telling the
Negroes that they were going to search the house and all the white folks before
they left and would dress the Negro girls up in their young mistress's clothes
and jewelry. When the rest began to hide, their most valuable trinkets. 

I thought of the roll of bills I carried and a little flag I had made for some
brave young knight of the Confederacy. I knew it would not do for them to see a
Rebel flag in our possession.

They would burn the house and us in it. I held to it though, bits of silk were
too scarce in those days. I couldn't afford to burn it and didn't want it to be
found in the house, so I made my own plans how I would bravely escape with the
money and flag when the search began. I had all these thoughts and plans to
myself, a girl of fourteen and in all my anxiety it never even once occurred to
me to speak of it to another, yet a woman can't keep a secret to save her life,
Oh! what a night we passed, fearing an attack from General Forrest and thinking
it would be safer in case of a battle, we made our beds on the floor, but no
sleep came to sooth our troubled fears' that night.

The Yankee Colonel placed guards around the house and at intervals all through
the night we were startled by the loud blast of a bugle right at our ears. That
was answered by others far off down the line of camps. 

I suppose they knew what it meant. I know I didn't, but there is one thing I
know, I will never forget the feelings of desolation and abomination that swept
over me at the sounds of those bugle horns.

When they started to move on the next day, the whole scene seemed in a wild
commotion. Men taking down tents, packing up, saddling, and hitching horses to
wagons, and ambulances and trying to destroy all that was left. I saw a dirty
sentinel stand and seem to take a savage delight in hacking to pieces the tender
sprays of a beautiful Arborvitae which was our mother's favorite shrub. 

When she went to the parlor, or to the headquarters door and asked the white
eyed Colonel Warren to stop such useless ravages, he turned away with some
impatient, imprudent answer such as one of his kind only could make. She came
back with a wounded insulted look on her face. I shall never forget how she
looked when she turned to us and said, "Don't let my little boys ever forget
this." Said she might not live to see the war ended but she wanted them to
remember it all. 

I have tried to obey her request and will think of it as long as life lasts. One
must grow old and cold indeed to forget such things. 

It was four in the afternoon before all of the five thousand blue coats were
gone out of sight, Oh! what a scene of desolation they left behind. Empty
stables, corncribs, wheat houses, smokehouses, not fences or gates on the place,
shrubbery and evergreens trampled by horses, and cut to pieces by the Cruel hand
of men. Hay, fodder, corncobs, and shucks Scattered over the yard, doorsteps,
porches and even the hall and rooms of our home. Not one chicken was left to
crow, not a calf or lamb to bleat, nor a pig to squeal but as old General
Tecumseh Sherman was not along to remind them of the torch they left us the
house. 

We set the Negroes to work and all hands joined in Cleaning up the rubbish, made
new fences and gates, bought more livestock with other necessaries to make
another big crop, and with pure southern grit managed to breathe , live , and
feed and entertain many southern soldiers from that time till the surrender. The
two empty smokehouses to the contrary, nevertheless. 

It was a strange accident, but true, that the Yankees tore down and burned the
fence up to the corner where father had hidden his watch. It was some distance
off but in sight of home. If he had thought of it at all, he certainly never
expected to see his time piece again, but some time after they left he was going
over the plantation and noticed the fence being left. He raised the rails. and
there lay the watch as he had left it sound and bright. 

It is funny to think of how they walked over and around the things they most
loved to take. 

Events of a sorrowful character occurred during that awful raid. Houses were
burned and hearts were broken. It was a shock of heart felt sorrow when we heard
that Billie Hannah was killed.

General Forrest, being near this section, a company of his men, Capt. James
Null, Billie Hannah, Billie and Willis Waddell, Lieutenant Frank Hawkins and
other neighbor boys gladly grasped the good opportunity to spend Christmas at
home. 

They had a little hiding place in the swamp near Capt. Null's home where no
strange armed enemy could find or penetrate. It would be poorly worth my while
to try to tell of the bravery and fighting qualities of Forrest's boys. 

It is written in History and song. By the time the Yankees struck camp, they
begun to go out over the country to rob and destroy. Squads went to the home of
Mr. Johnson Everett and commenced their work word of which was conveyed to our
boys in the swamps. Whoever on the watch for ranger or laurels came out and
undertook the arrest of the prowlers. When one of them showed fight, young
Waddell shot and killed him. The ball passing through him and wounding Billie
Hannah. His comrades carried him off back to the swamp and came for his sisters,
brave Rebel girls, who in company with the young sisters of Capt. Null left
their home at night to grope their way in secret to the cold dark hiding place
of a dying brother and sat by him till the pressure of his cold hand relaxed and
his eyes closed on the scene of war forever. 

They saw his body hastily and secretly buried in a temporary grave and returned
to see their home burned by the enemy.

A cloud of gloom fell over his comrades who a few days before were light-hearted
and happy in being where they could come to firesides of homes and friends to
enjoy the home-made luxuries and then at sight or sound of the enemy would
spring to their horses and dash back to the little knoll or island in the swamp.
Only a day or two before the Yankee raid, Billie Hannah called at our house to
visit sister Mary and Miss Connie Bowden.

I shall never forget when he started to leave how brave and handsome he looked.
Laughing and talking back at the girls, he sprang to his fiery war horse and
dashed off as he waved us a goodbye with a merry jest. Instantly we all recalled
the picture and spoke of it when the sad news came that brave, Kind-hearted,
handsome, Billie Hannah was dead. 

The killing of one of their men so enraged the Yankees they set fire to Mr.
Everett's house and burned it down. The officers galloped about, swore vengeance
and sent detachments of well equipped and mounted men away out over the country
to search for and capture the Rebel boys in which, as a matter of course. they
did not succeed.

They brought the remains of their dead soldier back and buried them near the
camps on Col. Sneads place.

The Negroes gave us a graphic and weird description of how they brought the body
and the way it, was buried. They said when he was lifted from the wagon, he had
a ladies white shirt spread over him for a winding sheet, and a white rag
stuffed in his mouth. We girls and children thought we had never heard of
anything so ghastly. 

The Negroes narrated many doleful things concerning the burial but nothing
seemed so frightful to us as the picture of the dead man with a rag in his
mouth. When night came, we imagined we could see it in the dark and every time
we shut our eyes to go to sleep, it would rise before us like Banquo's ghost. We
were afraid to go alone through a dark room. 

We felt so certain of seeing it. For a long time afterward when the girls wanted
to scare each other in going through a dark hall or room one would start in a
run and say "yonder comes the dead Yankee with a rag in his mouth", then the
running, screaming and stumbling pell-mell over tables and chairs, knocking down
and running over each other!

I sometimes wonder at our escapes with life when I think over those days. Yet I
believe we would be envied by the girls of today could they look back on us,
even in those awful days of trials and humiliation when tomorrow it might be a
question of what shall we eat, what shall have wear, and where shall we be she
sheltered.

I would never get through telling the depravations that were committed during
the Yankee raids. 

It was a cowardly and shameful act when a squad of blue coated stragglers went
to the house of an aged neighbor and kinsman of ours, Mr. Israel Snead, who had
lain for years perfectly helpless with palsy and had been handled and nursed as
tenderly as an infant by his wife, son and faithful servants. On entering his
house, the vandals demanded money. None being given them, they became enraged
and despite the entreaties of his wife, the seized the helpless old gentleman
and dragged him by brute force from his bed. While they turned up the bed
clothing and searched in every nook and corner and kept on searching till they
found money in a bureau drawer. 

Imagine the feelings of that good and highly respected old southern gentleman
who possessed all his pride and yet unable to move or speak in defense while he
was being dragged and thrown about by the brutish hands of the enemy. 

I will mention another incident that shows in a striking manner the brutish
greed for money that filled their hearts. When they went to Dr. J.W. Covington's
home, his young wife Nellie, seeing them enter the house, took off her rings and
other trinkets and placed them in the hand of a faithful servant. Then she
thought of a piece of gold money her father, Mr. Robert Gilbert, had given her
for a keepsake.

She went hastily to her trunk and took it out but had not had time or a chance
to give to the woman so she slipped it into her mouth. One of the lynx-eyed blue
coats saw the act and instantly and rudely grabbed at her chin and commanded her
to drop the money. He shook and commanded and shook till she was forced to let
the money fall into his rusty paw. They also took a beautiful little old time
diamond set pin from Dr. Covington which was valued on account of its history.
If I had time and space I could mention other mean, cowardly and despicable acts
committed by those who wore the uniform of blue.

About the middle or in the last two years of the war, the citizens and farmers
were harassed by Bushwhackers and Guerrillas, and we lived in dreadful awe of
the robbers who would not hesitate to murder where their attempts at robbery
were resisted. 

The Guerrillas were southern soldiers who acted as Home Guards most of them nice
men but others roamed the country in companies, made of all kinds and classes,
commanded by more experienced men of war. I have seen the lowest individuals of
the country in command and wearing the uniform of Captain who could scarcely
write their own names. 

The Bushwhackers were Union and homemade Yankee soldiers who committed ravages
in the country and bushwhacked our Guerillas. The robbers consisted of any and
everybody who wanted to rob. Some of them good boys and soldiers perhaps at the
commencement of the war but by hardships and thievish associates, they were led
step by step till circumstances or the false fascinations of a robbers life drew
them on to join the band. What dreadful night we passed when there was no true
soldiers in the country to protect us! 

We looked for the robbers to come every night when hearing of their awful crimes
in the neighborhood and all over West Tennessee. They abused the citizens in the
most horrible manner. Twisting their heads with a rope, torturing them with
fire, hanging, choking and dragging them behind the horses, and every other
fiendish device that could be thought of to exhort from them their money and
other valuables. It seemed that our citizens were in greater danger at home than
if they had been in the army. The uneasiness we suffered was awful. Thinking
every evening out time would come that night.

An old Confederate Colonel of a Tennessee regiment has said since the war that
if the Confederacy had not sent the soldiers to West Tennessee the whole country
would have been one graveyard from the Tennessee River to the Mississippi and
from Memphis to Union City. 

The Colonel was detached for that work and with his regiment he settled on
Jackson, Tennessee as headquarters. Before he went back to active service, he
had hung, killed, and captured a gang of forty known as "The Black Hawk Guard."
They had kept a regular set of books and had entered every article stolen and
also had the names of all the citizens they had killed. The best of these
cutthroats had murdered with his own hands twenty-eight defenseless citizens. 

We had a near relative, Mr. Tom Covington, who was shot down in the midst of his
family by a prowling Guerrilla who went to the stables and demanded a fine
horse. When Mr. Covington refused and shamed him for going round in such
business, he pretended to go away, but when our cousin turned to go in the
house, the cowardly thief secreted himself in a stable, put his gun through a
crack and shot him down. 

Dr. W. E. Curtis and Dr. Covington were summoned but to no avail for the wound
was mortal and in a short time he breathed his last. Another dark blot was added
to the history of our community, and a wife and several small children were left
to battle as best they could with the world and the untoward circumstances by
which we were all then surrounded.


Mr. Covington stood high in the community and his tragic death caused the
wildest excitement and indignation among his friends. The soldiers and citizens
captured the assassin and riddled his body with minnie balls.

We were compelled to pass through trying ordeals in the last years of the war.
The Yankee soldiers burning and robbing whenever their raids were made. Then the
Bushwhackers and robbers made raids. We were between fires all the time except
when the true boys in gray came in. Then we felt safe. We blessed them and fed
them, and glorified them. Our fathers felt safe and could sleep all night. Our
mothers ordered good dishes and the young ladies grew romantic and made bouquets
and little flags.

I have often heard my old father say since the war( and I remember) that there
never was a day or night or a time in all the four long years of the war from
the time our soldiers began to enlist as volunteers that we did not entertain or
feed and house some soldier or soldiers of some kind; of course, many hundreds
of them we girls never happened to get acquainted with or speak to. Most of our
soldiers acquaintances were those of a congenial character, or those whom we
knew or knew of, but they all wore the gray and so loved the South they gave up
their young bodies to be torn by shot and shell with no thought of greedy gain."

The honor of the Confederate Soldiers of all kinds from the highest to the
lowest Guerrilla was noticed in their Conduct toward the women and girls who
trusted them so fully.

Plain speaking has always been as much of a vanity as a religion with me, but I
will ask pardon for saying here what I have so often said and heard others say
and have seen in the writings of many old Confederate Veterans that the best
ladies of the South had no hesitancy in going secretly to the woods and swamps
to carry news or a basket of food to a hiding place of the Confederate. 

The young girls and soldier lads would have social gatherings and go to parties
and dance together. Yet if there was ever any improper conduct or thought on the
part of a southern soldier we never heard of it. I believe that each comrade
felt that one would be killed by the rest if he, by word or act, abused the
confidence of a good Southern girl.

Honor to the dear old Confederate Veterans!!! 

Sometime in the Spring of 64 soon after Smith's Yankee raid, we had a number of
Confederate soldiers coming and going from and to Jackson, Tennessee where they
made their headquarters. I found my favorite and best sweetheart among them. He
came in the times when we were in the worst luck and lacking many of the coarse
homemade luxuries we had become accustomed to in the days of war; but, as we
looked forward to a big crop of good things in the fall, we made lively thing of
it all and passed many hours of fun talking and laughing over our bills of fare
and so on. 

His home was near the Kentucky and East Tennessee line. As he and my mother
raked up an acquaintance of distant kinship it soon became natural and easy for
us to familiarly call him our Frank and treat him as a relative or one of the
family. He was twenty three years old, tall and very handsome, well dressed,
courteous and kind-hearted. Just bold enough to be brave with mischief enough to
be charming. He had been wounded in the hip and in moving about with a proud
aristocratic step, he had a slight limp which I thought added to his grace. Our
home was always open to him and he made many visits during the summer and next-
fall and winter. 

I remember that the squirrels had been spared by the results of war and left in
the woods until they became so numerous they were almost gentle and would come
and play on the fences around the house. 

All the guns that were not hidden too deep had been taken from the citizens and
if the Bushwhackers and Guerrillas wanted to shoot a squirrel they would not
fire a gun or pistol for fear of scaring up a band of one or the other from some
thicket nearby; but, Frank and others of his comrades would go out round the
place every day and kill squirrels. So at times we lived high on Squirrel Pie. 

One day in September during a temporary lull in the movements of the armies in
our section, my mother and I were returning from a visit to a neighbor. The day
had been a cloudless one. Our Way led through a beautiful grove of tall oaks and
hickory trees. All nature seemed cheerful. The frisky unmolested little
squirrels played over the ground and chased each other across our path. 

In memory, I can see the smooth well-trodden foot path and hear again the
distant tinkle of cowbells from over the wide green pastures and the wild sweet
notes of some lonely wood bird's call.

As we walked along slow, short steps to favor the toddling pace of the baby
sister, I looked off on the surrounding scenes and my young heart was filled
with love of life and nature. A flood of happy thoughts swept over me. but
dispelled and replaced in the next moment by thoughts of the trials and horrors
of war. It is hard for me to understand how a people could make war and fight
and kill each other in a world so full of beauty and love. I looked up into my
mother's face with the question "Mammie, "When will the war ever stop?" 

She answered that many a fond mother's son would yet fall before the strife was
ended. In sympathy she told the late sad news of the death of young John Ridley,
a neighbor boy and son of Mr. George Ridley. She pictured in words the heart
broken mother who had waited at home only to hear that her boy had fallen among
strangers far from home and all that was dear to his young heart. 

With these sad thoughts and feelings we walked on in silence till we came in
sight and hearing of home. I remember this visit and walk distinctly as being
the last I ever enjoyed with our sainted mother.

The sounds and movements of Negroes coming from the fields, calling and feeding
the cattle and hogs were all to be seen and heard but what attracted my
attention most was a line of cavalry horses tied near the gate. "Oh, look, Mama,
look at the soldiers horses." I cried grabbing up the baby Beulah in my
eagerness to get home faster. I recollect her remark that they would stay with
us that night and if they were true soldiers we might hear from the war and she
would not mind taking care of them, but that she was beginning to grow tired of
Guerrillas.

As we entered the front door and passed through the hall, I took a look a around
and saw that they were sure enough soldiers and nice looking men. They were
sitting and lounging about in the hall and doors but when Pappy took his chair
and went out on the grass and sat down, every man and lad raised a chair and
followed suit. This gave me a good chance to look from an upper story window. As
I sat looking down at the tired gray clad boys and men, Sallie came up and said
there had been four or five more there but the Captain took them and went to Mr.
Albert Harris home. 

She pointed out a tall slender young man who had lazily dropped down and lay
gracefully on the grass eagerly listening to catch the opinions of older heads
as they discussed movements and dangers of the armies. She stood and whispered
over my shoulder. "He is the prettiest one and I believe he is the Captain's
brother, he favors him, and the Captain is the finest man and has got the
biggest mustache you ever saw." It was late in the afternoon just before
suppertime, a sweet hour in Summer. 

I was looking down at the young soldier with my whole might when suddenly he
lifted his cap to the back of his head and a glance from the tired blue eyes
came slowly and aimlessly up to our window and stopped. I tried to appear like I
hadn't been looking at him and arose in a very dignified manner as I thought,
and left the window but when supper was announced I was back at my post to watch
them go in, keeping my eye on the young rebel who I noticed walked with a
princely, graceful stride. 

We soon learned they were natives of our state and worthy men. We treated them
as such. Our home was open to them throughout the rest of the war. As several of
them must figure in these leaflets from now on I will introduce them to you
patient readers. There was Captain Johnston who commanded the company, Captain
Newsom from Jackson, Tenn., Mr. Wilson, a handsome brown eyed bachelor, whom we
called Captain on account of his age, Mr. Toliver who looked like a bad portrait
of a gentleman and Mr. Von Johnston, the brother of the big captain will be
described farther on. 

Sallie and I were not out on the carpet. (That anybody except ourselves knew of)
She was full of childish fun and mischief and I was beginning to think I was
getting old enough to be more dignified in my manners. She was well acquainted
with our new friends long before had ever spoken to them and would tell me what
a nice little fellow the Captain's brother was, and that he had made her promise
to take me into the parlor. I was already taking on about him (as we call it)
and would sit or stand where I could see him as he passed from the parlor to the
dining room. He was always sure to smile at me and I --well-- you could have
counted every tooth I had, of course, it has often occurred to me in after years
that the older ladies and gentlemen were watching us with much amusement.

One afternoon of a beautiful day, a little band of girls and soldier lads walked
over to sister Mary to call on Miss Bettie Harris. How well I can recall the
quiet day and the walk through the shady, leafy lane where the little birds
twittered about in the bushes and the tall golden rod nodded to us over the
fence while the little purple flowers peeped through the cracks all seeming to
say, "for who knows what tomorrow will bring" Indeed, we were happy and enjoyed
those few quiet pleasant days giving ourselves up to merry mirth and jest.

It seemed that the stammering, irritable, little old Mr. Toliver lost his heart
on sister Mary at first sight. On this afternoon of our walk, a good-looking
soldier of our acquaintance asked permission to walk home with her. As we
started, Mr. Toliver concluded he would go with her. 

When he saw that she preferred to walk by the goggle-eyed warrior's side, he
became white with anger and green with jealousy. He preserved his equilibrium,
however, till we reached home and then on retiring from the presence of ladies
he stammered an invitation to the gallant young escort to the back of the
stables for a little shooting match. In fact, he was anxious to fi fi fight him
a du du duel. 

I have often thought over the fun we had at the expense of that irritable old
young man, and the darts of hatred he shot at me from his jet black eyes because
I thought I had found a striking resemblance between him and his horse and spoke
of it to my sweetheart, Frank, who whispered it around till it reached his ear.
I expected every day to be caught and strangled by him. Dreading even a look
from his fiery little eye, I kept clear of his path day after day and every time
he mounted said horse to ride away, I wished with an undercurrent of hope that
the Yankees might catch him. 

In thoughts, I wander back to those days and can remember every little thing
with a pleasure that is half pain. They were days of peace and pleasure in times
of war. The Yankee soldier had been cut off from us for a long time. We had
beautiful crops, our grain had been left in the fields to ripen, we had nice
fruits and the finest of melons and could enjoy our plain luxuries in peace and
ride our tolerable horses out without fear of being dismounted and sent home
afoot. The days were slipping by. The time was spent in visiting our girl
friends, feasting on fruits and talking to our soldier boys. 

It was nearing the close of a pleasant October day when Captain Johnston same
into mother's room and asked me to go with him to call on Miss Callie McKenzie.
Mary had promised to go but visitors came and she couldn't go that day. While I
knew he looked on me as something of a child I was frightened at the thoughts of
going with and having to talk to such a fine soldier. As I hesitated, mother
looked at me and said go on with the captain to see Miss Callie.

That reminded me of my age and I arose to go. Frank stood at the Captain's back
and opened wide his sky blue eyes at me and smiled a pretended surprise with a
comic mischievous look. As we passed out the gate, I saw Mr. Von Johnston
looking at us from the parlor window and imagined he would feel jealous at me
walking off with his big brother and I tried to walk and act like I was used to
having big captains notice me. 

My timidity with the Captain left me as he began to talk of our beautiful
country and excellent neighborhood. I remember we walked along over what is now
called Nation Hill, he said all these beautiful trees will be cut away when the
war is over and houses built over this road. I wondered to myself how people
could come there and build houses on Pappie's land and I thought he didn't know
any better and every now and then I would demurely answer, yes sir.

Finally he spoke of the interesting ladies in our community after singing their
praises awhile he asked me how I liked his brother and I answered (in a pert way
for one of my age) that I was not yet acquainted with him but I liked his looks
very much. He seemed astonished and exclaimed, "What!, not acquainted with Von
after all the glances and smiles? I had thought you were in a little romance of
your own, independent of us older folks. I will give him to you for a
sweetheart." 

Then he told of his brother's bravery in battle, how he tried to keep him back
but he would rush to the front and fight like a tiger. This was enough for me.
Being an enthusiastic admirer of bravery, I nearly forgot my beau ideal. 

Yes, went on the Captain, "You are ,just right age for Von, how old do you say
you are." I hadn't said but I made an effort to straighten up an inch or so
taller and agreeably answered "I will be fifteen next winter."

"Ah! what a pretty age and it is such a pity the schools are broken up. "This
let me down a height or two and I began to walk and act like I didn't pretend to
be anything but a little school girl. I gazed side-ways with childish admiration
on the tall commanding figure dressed to perfection in the uniform of an officer
and moving with the proud bearing of the typical southern gentleman. 

We made the visit and returned in a short time. I thought as I had made such a
big move that day I might just as well keep on. So I walked into the parlor by
the gallant Captain's side who after speaking all round to the ladies and
friends and telling of our nice visit and talk, led me toward his brother and
said, "Miss Annie, let me introduce my Brother."

The handsome young soldier bowed to the ground and I tried to courtesy quite
low. He drew his chair near by and when the older folks raised a high
conversation, he undertook a little chat with me. I found him to be rather timid
as I have learned since all brave men are. We had a nice chat however, and in
chiding me for being so shy he said "You must come in often, we, all want to see
you."

Dear Mrs. McKenzie had given me some early chrysanthemum and I sat holding and
playing with the bouquet. When Van gently took my hand and tenderly raised it to
bury his well shaped nose in the beautiful flowers, I caught the Captain's eye
set on us in great amusement which caused me to blush in piteous confusion. I
never inhale the sweet perfume of the lovely chrysanthemum that it is not
associated with my first coming out on the carpet.

Betty came that evening to spend the week. She has not met young Johnston and
was highly singing his praises. I told her of my ever-to-be-remembered debut and
of the nice time I had with Von and that he had asked me to go in the parlor
often that they all wanted to see me. I informed her (with a very grown folk's
air) that we would dress up and go down that night. 

After supper was over we saw the young ladies dressing and primping for the
evening and after they had gone to the parlor we thought it was the thing for us
to do something of the kind too. I smile when I think how intent and earnest we
were. I brought out from the bottom of my trunk a white Swiss dress (all I had
of nothern finery) to array myself in, then drew on the well kept party shoes
and curled my hair in long ringlets like Dora Copperfield and last, I pinned a
bunch of flowers that played a part in the debut at my throat. Bettie had been
just as busy arraying herself in whatever she found that suited her fancy. When
we were ready to go down, she asked me how she looked. I assured her she looked
beautiful and asked how I looked. "Oh, you look sweeter than I ever saw you",
she hadn't looked at me at all. I gave another little twist to the Copperfield
curls and announced myself quite ready to descent. We went down and after
promenading up and down the hall (as if we were in no hurry to go in) we made
our way fu¥ degrees into the parlor. Von and Frank were sitting in a corner
facing the door. We imagined we saw a gleam of satisfaction settle on their
sunny faces as we entered.

They gave us their whole attention throughout the evening. We Played hull-gull
and other games and made plans for parties and other pleasures forgetting all
about the horrors of war. 

In a few days Captain Johnston left us for other scenes. Captain Newsom, Mr.
Wilson, and Von stayed till further orders, which came in a short time to pack
up and move. So our newfound friends bade us adieu and started back to hardships
and warfare. We thought it a last farewell as had been the case with many other
good soldiers, but in a few weeks when the brown leaves were falling and the
ripe nuts gathered and stored away for winter, we were surprised and delighted
to see them back again. The troops were compelled to stay in West Tennessee and
our new friends came back and forth from Jackson, staying in this community most
of the time making Col. Bowden's and our house their home and we were glad to
have them as the robbers were filling the country and the citizens were being
murdered by all kinds of cut-throats.

At the first opportunity, I sent Bettie a note telling her that the soldier boys
were back again and would have to stay a long time and what a nice time I was
going to have sitting by the big fires eating red apples, chestnuts, walnuts,
hickory nuts and popcorn and playing our favorite game hull-gull with the same.
I knew she would be out of her head to come and be with me. I told her that they
had brought back a new fellow with them and that Frank was a heap prettier then
he was in the summer and had a new soldiers cap and roundabout. 

Fall had passed away and the winter snows were beginning to fall and our
soldiers tarried with us. Their uniforms began to wear out and their was no
possible way to get new ones so the ladies round about made home woven jeans
pants and gave to them, but they still wore the gray jackets. 

Our Frank and most of them were fortunate enough to get gray jeans pants but
Von's were made of black and the lady who made them sewed a large yellow cord in
the outside seams made of yellow calico and thought it gave them a military look
that would greatly please the young man.

Von was instinctively a gentleman and while he was proud to wear the uniform of
gray with a tiny blue stripe down the legs, he turned sick with horror at the
thoughts of having to wear the black jeans pants with the bright yellow stripes.
However he thanked the young lady with becoming grace, and made an effort to
look delighted but seemed in no hurry to discard the old pants and clung on to
them till one evening, I asked him if he was saving his new breeches for Sunday.
He didn't seem to relish the joke but next morning he stepped out in them trying
to like himself as he came striding in to breakfast.

About that time we had several new soldiers on the scene. They were dressed in
new uniforms and said they belonged to a Kentucky brigade. They were plain, nice
looking soldiers, the youngest one among them was uncommonly good looking. He
was seventeen years old, small, with brown eyes, and dark hair, knew all the new
war songs, could sing them with much pathos, and dance like the king of all
dancing masters. Several young girls were staying with us awhile and for a time
we all thought there never was a more dashing human than "Little Joe". 

One evening after supper, we were all seated around the big fireplace and about
the room. Bettie whispered to me that, she thought Joe was decidedly handsomer
than Frank or Von Johnston either. I looked over at our blue eyed forsaken hero
who was already disgusted at our foolish taking on over the "Paducah Street Rat"
and answered Bettie that I didn't think Joe was the prettiest and asked her if
she thought so. Sure enough she rolled her dark brown eyes round at me and
answered aloud, "DE-CI-DED-LY."

I had seen that Joe was a little too frisky and rather overdid his
accomplishments but he was all the rage just then and paying me some attention
so I pretended that I didn't believe he was a street rat. The fact of his being
a Confederate "Soldier in company with good Kentuckians was enough to carry him
through and besides, there was not much distinction in times of war. A well-
behaved soldier was a soldier with the southern people. There could be no
decided line drawn between classes. They wore the Gray and fought side by side
together for the sunny land we loved so well.

One day sister Sue and Mary went to visit some friends. We younger girls
expected them to be gone all-night and anticipated a fine time in having the
parlor all to ourselves.

It was getting on toward Christmas time, Sallie and a cousin Annie Randle,
thought they would begin festivities with a play party. They ran away and went
to Col. Snead's to press our little friend, Jimmie Snead into service to help
invite some home boys who were too young to go to war or not old enough to be
conscripted. The very young soldiers called them feather-bed boys which never
failed to make them fighting mad.

Bettie and I had nothing to do with making up the party but we feared the
consequences when Mammie and Pappy should ever find it out. Bettie said we could
tell them the boys stormed us so we went to work and set the room to order for
plays. Trimmed two long greasy tallow candles and sat to wait for night and the
coming guests. 

Von had just got in from a trip to Jackson. Frank and Little Joe were already on
hand patiently waiting for the darkness of night and brilliant lighting of the
tallow dips. We grew braver and happier as evening approached, but when dark
came it brought Susan and Mary, Miss Connie Bowden, Miss Sallie McKenzie and
Miss Lucy Bowden, all the Captains and Mr. Toliver thrown in. We of the smaller
size hardly knew what to do. We couldn't send the boys word not to come and we
knew the grown folks had the floor and would scold or laugh at us. We were in a
terrible quandary and huddled together in a dark, cold room to consult the
matter. Annie Randle said, "lets go to bed and make out we had nothing to do
with it." "No", said Sallie, I made up the party and I intend to have some sort
of pleasure." I was so badly put out to make any suggestions but was willing to
trust to the impulse of the moment in case of an onslaught. 

After supper was over, all gathered in the parlor. Mr. Wilson and Mary sat
cooing in one corner. Captain Newsom and Miss Lucy Bowden in another. Sue, Miss
Callie and others having no conscientious scruples to card playing were engaged
in games of enchre. While we looked on with scared eyes and dreadful thoughts of
what was to come. 

In a little while we heard five or six pairs of shoes on the front porch. Oh!
those shoes, those tallow shoes. We sat quite still and didn't seem to hear the
shuffling and walking about as if they didn't know where to go or what to do.
The grown folks hushed their conservation, pallid fear sat upon every face. When
Captains began to place hands on pistols preparing for action, Bettie looked
over at Sallie and commenced, "Sal why don't you get up and go out yonder and
ask them boys to come in and have seats." You set there like you don't know who
it is."

By this time father was in the hall with a confederate grease lamp. One of the
boys raised his hat and led off, Good evening, has the party folks all got in?"
Mary heard the words and turned on me..."Annie, what have you doing?" I pleaded
that Sallie and Annie Randle did it and dear good sister Mary went in and
explained the affair to Mother and I got a scolding and poor little Sallie got
an active correction.

Sue and Mary received the boys graciously, chatted awhile then proposed a game
of snap or stealing partners by way of starting us off. The boys advanced to the
fire and in time became sufficiently at ease to consent to seek partner. In, due
time Sallie got over the little correction and made her appearance in good trim
and she and little Annie acted as floor managers and bossed the games generally.
Old Mr. Toliver joined in the plays, spring about here and there with the most
dangerous ability. Von couldn't be prevailed on to participate.

I thought it was on account of his stripes and Bettie said he was jealous and
Sallie said she guessed he wanted to go home. Bettie said she would try him one
more time and if she couldn't draw him out she would let him alone. She walked
over to where he sat and turning her head to one side she pleaded, "Won't you
come and play with us, Mr. Johnston, you look so lonesome over here." "No!"
ejected he of the yellow stripes leaning his head against the wall and closing
his eyes as if he cared for nothing earthly. He looked so handsomely miserable
we became uneasy about him and by degrees quit the plays. 

They were playing stealing partners when the feather boys begun to grumble about
the girls paying more attention to the soldiers. 

Sam Ross, a nice big home boy who was staying in our neighborhood, said it was
because they had cavalry boots on. "Yes, " said another, "I'm not er comin no
more. "I ain't neither," growled Sam. They dropped out of the play and hunted
round for the homemade hats to start home. Jimmy Snead who was having a gay time
called out "Let's don't go yet, Sam." "I'm er going, You can stay as you want
er. 

Father came in the hall about this time sounded the knell of bedtime and we all
broke up in earnest and in a hurry too.

We sat up in our room till late laughing over our fun and the scrape we got
into. When Sallie expressed a wish to have another party somewhere, Betty looked
with twinkling eyes at her and said, "I hardly think you will want to get up one
here again soon. " 

On a night or two after the invitation party, we belles and beaux were sitting
by the parlor fire in quiet conversation. Sallie and Annie Randle were in
another room singing songs in a hymn book when Sallie imagined she saw a great
black "booger boo" come in the hall and vanish at the back door, She and Annie
were awfully scared and went flying to Pappie and said they saw a great tall
robber come through the hall. To quiet them, father came in and asked Von to go
round one half of the house while he went the other and they would be sure to
catch the booger. 

It was known by all the family and friends that I was not afraid of anything. I
was sitting in a corner by the fireplace close to a window which had a hole in
one of the panes. When Von reached the window, he on mischief bent, stopped and
stamped on the ground and blowed a awful guttural sound through the broken glass
right in my ear. I took a fright.

I also took a jump and knocked down and sprang over two chairs and had little
regard for homemade red lindsey balmarals and raw hide shoes. I screeched as I
went, "Here it is, Pappie" coming right through the window. Von stood and
listened with a serious face till father looked straight at him and asked in a
fatherly manner, "Von, didn't you stop at that window and scare her?" Then Von's
eyes began to sparkle and he thought to invent not exactly a George Washington
answer but a cousin to it. He gracefully shuffled his position and answered "I
stomped my toe out there; I guess she heard that and got scared." After father
had gone to his room and all quieted down, Von rose up and acted to perfection
my ludicrous part in the episode of the evening. There was to be a grand party
and dance at Col. Snead's on the following night. It was much talked of and a
fine time anticipated by all. 

When Bettie and I found that we would be allowed to go, we were as busy making
preparations for the occasion as the young ladies were. I remember Bettie said
that some of the McLemoresville girls would be there and she was determined they
shouldn't cut her out. She and I went to the woods and gathered some bright
coral waxen berries that grew on a kind of wild vine and made wreathes to wear
in our hair. 

Frank asked me that day if I was going and gently and kindly requested me not to
dance with or notice little Joe. He said Joe was no account and had stolen a
spur from him besides. I believed every word he said but didn't care to let him
know it. I gravely shook my head. "No, no, Joe didn't steal your spur. I
expected that big awkward Gid Freeman got it. I was sorry in a minute for saying
it. 

"Why Annie, Gid is a good man, you don't mean what you say. You are too good a
little girl to talk that way. He looked at me so earnestly with his blue eyes I
became ashamed of my self and took back the words and promised to dance no more
with little Joe. As Von was blacking his boots that day, Sue suggested he should
black those side stripes" He asked me what I thought about it. " Oh! I said,
that is the very thing, Let's black them. "We thought he appeared brighter after
that and looked forward to the setting of the sun with as much pleasure as the
rest. 

When time came to dress, Bettie, and I put on our new confederate gray dress and
black girdles. Then we looked in the mirror and lo! what beauties!!

As guests were always expected in those days at early candle light the afternoon
shadows were just blending into evening when our little party set out to walk a
mile or more to the big "Cotillion Party." Captain Wilson and Mary led the
company of several boys and girls and the fun we had together walking by the
light of the moon was hardly surpassed by the pleasures of the dance.

When we arrived at the house our gracious host and hostess met us with a welcome
and invited us in where the big fires were blazing and the tallow candles
flashing. The earlier guests were promenading the halls and gaily chatting in
happy and lively anticipation of the pleasures of the evening. The musicians
were all ready settled back in a warm corner tuning the fiddles. How many of you
old time souls remember the sounds of the notes, ting-ting tong-tong---tang-
tang---ting-o-ling.!!! The silver toned prompter stood at one side. "Seek your
partners for the first quadrille. "Four couples bis-a-vis on the floor, honor
your partners all promonade", and away they went.

There was such a large party of captains and young ladies on the floor that
evening we young lassies and laddies were beginning to fear we would not get a
chance to take a hand hen we saw little Joe prancing around making preparations
for another set.

On account of the wounded hip our Frank couldn't dance, and remembering my
promise I managed in time to have Sam Ross ask me first to dance with him. Joe
led Bettie out and we took our places on the floor. The music struck up with the
familiar, lively old tune of "Run nigger, Run, the patrol will catch you, Run
nigger Run its almost day" and we commenced. Sam got off very well through the
first figures but when the call for first gentleman to the right he either
couldn't cut the figure or didn't know it was his time, anyhow, he stood with
his hands in the loose coat pockets and the tallow shoes refused to shuffle. Joe
called out in a commanding manner. "Lead off there Ross What are you thinking
about?" "Lead off yer self." "No, no, I'm not first, gentleman, you are first,
go ahead." "I aint er gwine ter do it, " snapped Sam. Joe advanced a step or two
with a military air and commanded, "Get out of the set then, you green horn you,
with the feathers in your hair." 

This featherbed business was too much for Sam and the anger that shone in his
eyes was terrible to behold. Pointing a substantial finger toward the door he
railed out to the young soldier: "You jest come out here on the pyazer and I'll
ge dad-birned if I don't make you wush you was on er feather bed er any other
Sort'er bed, you little biggetty up-start you, come out I say" " I didn't come
here to fight, besides we are in the presence of ladies," observed Joe advancing
back a step or two. "Yes, but I axed you out on the pyazer if you aint a coward
come and and show the gals what you can do." "Thank you, I do my fighting on the
battle fields," persisted Joe with white lips. "Yes", roared Sam.

"I bet you never seed er battle field nor er battle either. I don't believe you
are much nohow, and the first thing you know, you will be er lyin in ther floor,
or kicken fer life." 

All at once the prompter hushed his calls, the music stopped, the grown folks
quadrille ceased suddenly leaving poor old Mr. Toliver with one spur and booted
foot suspended high up in the air. Sam had the floor. I began to get sorry for
Joe and scolded Sam to hush and be ashamed. "Oh, "he said!" I low to beat him
before he leaves the county ef I hafter swing fer it." "But, Sam, you are the
cause of it." "I know I ain't he was er makin fun er me and you know it too." He
looked so much like he was a bout to cry I began to feel like I didn't know
which side I was on but as Joe got the worst of the scrimmage, I felt sorry for
him and asked him to pay no more attention to Sam's talk. He agreeably whirled
round and haughtily left the floor, his big spurs jingling at every step.

When the music commenced again with renewed vigor, the boys called to Joe to
come back and finish the quadrille. Sam vanished and Bettie thinking Joe had
deserted her accepted another partner. Well, I didn't exactly forget my promise
but wanted to make peace all round so I hopped about and finished the last bar
with little Joe. 

When all the dancing was over and time to go home, Bettie came to me and said
she believed Frank was awful mad at me because I had taken Joe's part and danced
with him. I looked over at my princely cavalier and saw that he had the
indescribable expression on his handsome brow I had seen there before and I set
my head not to notice it. He seemed just as determined I should know that a
change had come over the spirit of his dream. However, when time came to start
home, he glided up alongside like a gentleman but with a determined look that
seemed to say, "As I was your escort here, I will see you safely home."

I drew on my wraps without his tender help and moved on toward the door in a
sickly effort at looking independent. We were both too proud to let the rest
know we were in a pout and as we had to go in companies and keep together, he
offered me his arm. I wanted the rest of the girls to think I was hanging on his
arm. At the same time I wanted him to know that I didn't want to touch his arm
so I caught up a little pinch of his round about sleeve and held on with a death
grip. As we walked along in silence I could hear the musical tinkle of his spurs
every time his foot went down with the long graceful, but determined. steps" 

Every now and then he would clear up his throat ,which had a determined sound of
itself and I imagined he was trying to act like his father away back home. I
thought he was too young and pretty to have such mannish ways and concluded to
myself that I liked little Joe the best. He was lively and always in a good
humor. I didn't care if he did steal spurs.

Bettie was to go home the next day and I had promised to go with her to spend a
week. I was thinking of this and hoping Frank would miss me and feel bad for
doing so mean when Bettie turned round to us and asked him what he was so sad
and silent about. ..Oh, nothing, only I'm tired." I don't see what could make
you tired. You didn't dance any, It seems to me like you are mad." This pungent
hint revived him up a little and he chatted and laughed good humouredly with her
and the rest till we reached home. Then as we entered the gate, he made some
little pleasant remark to me but I was not quite ready to make up and walked on
like I didn't hear him. When we got to the hall door the thumb and fore finger
grip I had on his sleeve relaxed and I went pacing off up stairs without a word
of goodnight, lowing to myself that I cared for nothing earthly.

When Bettie came up to bed, we covered our heads to keep warm and to keep the
grown girls from hearing us talk. I said to her that I was glad we were going to
her house the next day for I was mad at Joe and Frank and all the rest. I told
her that two of the college boys, Muke Nelson and Bud Gordon, were my
sweethearts. I couldn't remember that Bud had ever noticed me but I tried to
narrate in a novel way my parting with Muke. I told her that when the school was
stopped and the last day came he helped me to mount the horse and when I reached
down to tell him goodbye he asked me not to forget him, and he kissed my hand
like what we read about in books. Then she told me that Col. Bowden was her
sweetheart and went on to explain how we ought to stick to our old sweethearts
and let the strange soldiers go back home and find girls of their own. Said if
Coe didn't get killed she would marry him when the war was over. We talked with
very grown folks airs imagined ourselves engaged young ladies and soon fell
asleep with visions of gray uniforms, pistols, swords and spurs before our eyes
and the sound of music and dancing in our ears, half dreaming of the nice time
we would have on the morrow.

The soldiers danced with spurs and pistols buckled on in order to be ready for
any emergencies. Our eyes flew open next morning at the first loud strokes of
the cook beating the biscuit dough. We never hear that old sound now nor do we
ever see or eat a beaten biscuit, that all vanished with the bondage of slaves.
After breakfast was over we were eager to be off on our little journey of four
miles on horseback. Owing to the scarcity of horses we were allowed but one. A
Negro groom was mounted on a mule to go as guard, and to bring back the horse. 

It was a pleasant winter day and as we preferred walking awhile, the boy was
ordered to move on with our horse and baggage. Frank came out to bid us adieu.
We hadn't met since the walk home after the ball. I was willing to make up but
too mean to proceed. He shook hands with Bettie first then put out his hand to
me for a goodbye. I gave my hand to him and he looked earnest and serious as he
said I am expecting to be called away at any day and if I should under the
dangers and uncertainties of war, I may never see you all again. I was already
growing sad but only said goodbye and went marching off down the road leaving
Bettie to lisp as much answers as she pleased. She and I had looked forward to
so much fun and pleasure in spending another week together but as we walked on
through the grove near home(Nation Hill) I felt sad, subdued, and troubled. I
thought of how my soldier cousin sweetheart had tried to make friends with me. I
felt that after all its my fault.

I had promised to "not notice" frisky Joe any more and Frank was such a nice
good boy. I commenced to pour all these thoughts and the sad heart felt troubles
into Bettie's sympathetic ears. She turned on me and rattled off. "He is the
sweetest thing I ever saw. How could you treat him so mean. You have done so
mean I just don't know what to say to you." This changed me all round and I
turned on her. "Well, Bettie, your sympathy for me is smoothing, I declare. He
was the cause of it all and I am not going to be friends with him any more. Of
course I don't want him to get killed but won't care one bit if he has to go
back to the command tomorrow." " Yes'm" Bettie said, " You will get over all
that and be nearly dead to see him before tomorrow." "No, I wont either," " Yes,
You will," "I know I won't." "I know you will." "How do you know I will?" "
Because all the girls love him and want to see him." "Well, are you in love with
him." "No, I'm not." "Yes, you are." " I know I'm not." "But I know you are."
"How do you know it'?" " You said so." "I know I never." "But I know you did."
"What did I say?" "You said all the girls loved him." "Yes, I meant all but
myself, I told you last night who my sweetheart is." "Well, didn't I tell you
the college boys were my sweethearts." "Yes, but you told a story. "I am not
going home with you one step."

"No, I didn't, mean you told a story. Come on, I've got a secret to tell you."
"What is it, Bettie?" "Tell me I'm not mad." "Well, we are going to have a party
in our neighborhood next week and all the soldiers are coming to it. I bet Frank
will come while you are down there. "Oh, I don't want to see him, I'm mad at him
and don't care how much the girls love him. "I don't care either, she said,
calling out to the boy to wait for us to ride awhile. 

She was the larger and rode in the saddle. After riding over a long muddy road
we came to a large scope of wood again. The temptation to walk again was too
great to be resisted so we dismounted to idle and play along the woods and road
where the wild grape vines clambered everywhere on the stout oaks and little red
birds whistled and played about under the leafless bushes. We broke jumping
hoops from the grape vines and gathered the green leaves and red berries from
the holly trees. My eyes are filled with tears as I think of our pleasure or
that bright winter day and the picture of Bettie and the holly tree as she
reached up to break the sprays of berries and singing our favorite song, "The
years creep slowly by, Lorena." I thought there was nothing so pathetic as that
song. She could sing well and I kept her singing "Lorena" at all idle times.
Young as I was I could appreciate the sentiment in the sad sweet words. 

A hundred months have passed, Lorena 
Since last I held your hand in mine. 
And felt that pulse beat fast, Lorena 
Though mine beat faster far than thine. 
A hundred months twas glowing May 
When up the hilly slope we climbed 
To watch the dying of the day 
And hear the distant church bells chime. 

We loaded the mule and boy with our vines and evergreens and mounted our horse
again to cross the branch-roads and on over the 'creek taking our time. We even
stopped in the middle of the creek near a pretty little waterfall to gaze with
admiration on its tiny billowy dash. 

After crossing the creek and leaving the main road, we turned and rode up a
short lane and, were soon in sight of the house which was a quiet place a little
off from the public roads. Bet tie remarked that it would be lonesome for me
after all our fun of the past week but we found many sources of amusement.
Visiting the near neighbor, playing, singing, joking each other and rambling
over the sweetgum swamp nearby. 

How well I remember the day. Oh! that happy giddy girlhood day. We wrapped up
and took knives to the swamp and gathered the sweetgum for chewing. Dear tricky
Bettie, what a scare she gave me that day. Being some little distance from me
she saw some Negro man driving the cows out from the swamp. Quick as thought,
she called out to me, "Just look at the Bushwhackers coming right on us." As she
started in a run, I looked and got one glimpse of the Negroes coming through the
trees and brambles. My fright and imagination colored their coats blue and
changed the big sticks into guns and carbines, and every old cow that paced
along was a fiery steed with its bloodthirsty rider. When I gave a spring and
sailed off, jumping the puddles and bushes, she cried out, "Run for your life,
they are Huntingdon bushwhackers, meanest Yankees on earth." I gave a jump and
flew on faster thinking she was close behind me till I heard her laugh away off
back in the distance I turned to look back. She had sat down on the ground to
laugh, her voice rang and echoed in the hollow woods as she sang out, "And you
are the bravest girl of us all." After seeing the joke, I joined in the laugh to
a sickly extent. In all my life I have never seen a girl who could joke or enjoy
one like Bettie Snead did. 

We wandered about enjoying the ramble and gathering the sweetgum till late, when
looking toward the west we saw the sun going down and hurried homeward and on
reaching the house found Miss Bettie Hannah there waiting for us. She had come
for Ellen Snead to go and spend the night with her at the home of Mrs. Mary
Read, a married sister of hers and waited to ask me to go also. Bettie didn't
want me to leave her. She said Miss Bettie and Ellen were young ladies and it
would be lonesome for me with no girls of my own age there. Miss Bettie and
Ellen seemed anxious for me to go. Said I would regret it afterwards if I
remained away. I was so glad to see Miss Bettie and wanted to go with her. She
reminded me of the nice times we had together at my own home and I was just as
anxious to stay with Bettie. When Ellen said she would not go if I didn't want
to go with her, I accepted the kind invitation and looked forward to the night
with pleasure. 

Miss Bettie came on horseback. We were to walk and lead the horse but when we
started, the young ladies asked me to ride arid let them walk. I led the horse
to a stump and perched myself on its back. As I rode slowly along behind
listening to the animated conversation of the ladies, I thought I had treated
Bettie wrong in leaving her. I felt homesick arid wondered what Frank was doing
at that time. My heart had softened toward him wonderfully. I was afraid I would
never get to see him again. I wanted to go home and be with my favorite sister,
Mary, sweet, gentle, patient Mary who could understand me better than anyone
else. 

It was nearly dark when we stopped in front of a nice large country house like
we read about with red chimneys and a front yard as clean and smooth as a sheet
of brown paper. The horse walked on and stopped beside a high block and drew a
long breath as much as to say get off my back right here young lady.

Miss Agnes Hannah, another sister, came out to meet us seemed delighted and
preceded us to the house where Mrs. Read received us kindly, passed the
compliments of the day and then invited us in to supper. "Oh, no," the young
Ladies said. "Don't let's have supper yet." I thought I saw from their actions
that they were expecting somebody else and I felt ill at ease and lost indeed,
being in a strange neighborhood, I dreaded to meet with strangers. They had not
waited supper long before we heard the tramp, tramp of several boots on the
front gallery. 

I stole out from the parlor into the adjoining room and sat by the fire.

Hearing voices among the new arrivals, I crept to the door and opened a little
crack. Just large enough to peep in and for me to see without being seen. I
thought I saw a pair of familiar looking black jean pants which reminded me of
home and inspirited me to peep further in search of a pair of gray jeans, but my
sight couldn't reach far enough and I went back to the fire. 

Amid the lively welcomes and talking I heard Miss Bettie say, "She is in that
room, go in there." Thinking she spoke of her married sister or some inquiring
visitor, I sat gazing in the fire when I heard the faint tinkle of a pair of
spurs as they came slowly in and stopped near me. Turning my eyes from the fire
in a side-long glance, I gave a little jump of unexpected delight as I quickly
recognized the gray jeans legs. 

My hero saw in a minute that I was glad to see him. I forgot all, about our
little misunderstanding. My loneliness vanished and I blessed Miss Bettie for
taking me there when he caught my hand and told me how he had missed me and
thought he would never get to see me again. 

When I inquired about home and he said it was lonesome there without me and he
didn't think the place could look so lonely till I left, I felt very important,
very important indeed. When supper was over we adjourned to the big sitting room
and after awhile others came in and I found myself in a genuine but unexpected
social party. We enjoyed Ourselves in the usual way of parties when dancing was
not the topic. My little beau put in the most of his time begging me to go home
the next day. Said the country round there was too gloomy without me. 

The next morning dawned with slight clouds and signs of snow which suited us
exactly for we were very well satisfied and in no hurry to disperse. 

Sometime after breakfast, Captain Wilson looked out from the window and said,
"It's snowing, we will all have to stay all day." Ellen answered that she hadn't
seen any signs of anybody wanting to leave. And so with kind invitations we
agreed to settle down and enjoy the day with our most hospitable friends. How
much fun and pleasure we enjoyed that day. the half can never be told. 

Frank and I happened to be sitting near a window watching the flakes of falling
snow when suddenly a big red legged chicken came loping by fleeing for dear
life. 

He said, "You can't make me leave here today, Mrs. Reed is going to have chicken
for dinner."

Round and round the house went the chicken in a desperate trot to save it's long
fat neck from the block and hatchet. At last we heard the loud squawk of terror
and all was quiet. 

The snow continued to fall fast and we remained and thought the morning had
passed too swiftly when dinner was announced. When we entered the dining room
Frank looked at me and glanced quickly toward the head of the table where sure
enough there on a big dish lay the large fat chicken with both legs pointing
heavenward as if in prayerful supplication for protection from the skinny
carving knife lying so close at hand.

How well I remember the nice wartime dinner we had that day. The nice chicken,
ham, eggs, vegetables, pickles, good homemade bread, dried fruit pies; by way of
variety, a big pot of steaming coffee so good we didn't know whether it was the
real or a substitute with the tall glass sorghum stand in the middle of the
table standing like a dark sentinel to remind us of war. I will venture to say
that the fine dinners of today can never be appreciated or enjoyed like the
wartime good dinners of those days. 

The day was slipping by, night was near. The snow lay deep on the ground and
clung to the fences and trees, and a cold north wind was swaying limbs of a
large tree against the window panes with a dismal, screeching sound. 

Our little party was too happy in the thoughts of remaining with our friends
another night.

How comfortable and contented we were sitting by the bright blazing fire
laughing, joking and singing, the captains and boys tormenting us by thumping
snow in our faces. I remember Captain Newsom put the fire shovel in the coals
and heated it red hot, then pointed it at Miss Agnes and started toward her with
a desperate, most determined look just to hear her scream. 

About the time we settled in a happy feeling staying all night again, Ellen
looked out toward the front gate and turning to me her bright eyes spoke volumes
as she motioned me to look. When I turned my eyes in the direction I saw not a
squad of Bushwhackers nor an army of Yankee troops but a Negro boy shivering on
the back of an old broken down war horse. I knew instantly what it meant and
from whence they came. Bettie and her father had rigged up the old horse with an
old saddle frame and a rope for a bridle and sent it to carry us home through
the snow.

Imagine our feelings if you can. I will not try to express or describe how we
felt and looked but will say that we very reluctantly commenced drawing on our
wrappings for departure. Our friends showed regret and insisted on us staying
which made it harder for us to leave.

As Frank assisted me in wrapping and hooding up, he whispered his sorrow at
seeing his little queen go off in the cold and snow. He and the Captains went
out to the block to assist us in mounting our prancing steed.

Ellen has shown decided interest in one of the Captains. She appeared a little
embarrassed when we reached the gate. Others had come out to see us off and we
were both ashamed for them to see us mount and start. We hopped up to the block
with a lively air and then bounced to the old horse's back. The Negro turned the
old animals head homeward and it didn't take the hint. There we sat. Ellen in
the saddle frame and I sat on the fragment of an old bed quilt behind her. 

She clucked and shook the rope, still it stood and refused to move. I gave a
little cluck or two. Nig pulled at the rope and it stood as if dreaming of
better days. Captain Wilson clucked and Ellen gave another cluck in sympathy
with him. Frank slapped his hands together and clucked and then I had to cluck
in sympathy. Captain Newsom stood by and threw up both hands and yelled to scare
him off. Miss Agnes and Bettie grabbed up snow and threw on him and yet the old
warrior stood. I finally thought I would remind the old fellow of the cavalry
spur. Giving a hard decided little kick on the side I persuaded him to start off
in a memory of the old trot he had indulged in before the war. We shouted back a
hasty adieu to our friends behind and I help him in mind of the spur and Ellen
shook the rope and clucked loudly to keep him moving till we reached' home, the
boy in the rear lending active assistance with a hickory pole. Bettie was
standing in the door watching for us. She said she had never been so lonesome in
her life. 

We stole off to ourselves for a talk and when I told her of our fun and who we
had seen she asked if Frank and I had fixed up our fuss. Oh, I assured her we
hadn't even thought of the fuss and in telling her of the nice things he said I
remembered that he called me his queen of Sheba. 

The snow kept us in for several days but we amused ourselves with playing and
singing, joking and sometimes knitting for a rarity. When the sun came out and
the snow begun to melt my mother sent for me to come home and I parted from my
friends with promises of future meetings and pleasures, little dreaming of the
great change and sorrows that were so soon to come on me. 

There is something sadly touching in, the memory of our girlhood. How bright the
special days of happiness appear before us and the ghosts of our giddy, happy,
long ago selves looking at us across the years of tribulations with a tender
pity. It may have been the fact that I had no one to talk with me as I rode
home, I don't know; but a feeling of dread came over me, I didn't know then why
it came or how it came and I am sure I don't know now but the feeling was there.
I tried to find interest in the trees and patches of snow spread about in the
woods and corners of the fences. I tried to think over our pleasure in going on
the same road a week before. 

The scenes were not the same and my spirits were not the same. Every thing spoke
a hush and seemed to say "The fun and pleasures is past", as I rode silently
along in the melting snow and water. 

The brawny groom trotting at a little distance behind, his mule's feet going
splash, splash, splashy, spat, sounding to me like hush, hush all fun is past.
When I drew nearer home my spirits became lighter and on finding everybody as
cheerful as usual I soon forgot the feelings of sadness and dread. 

Our soldiers were waiting in suspense to hear from the fighting armies and
scarcely knew what to expect. General Sherman was burning, destroying and making
a clean sweep of everything in the South. Our armies were hemmed in and cut off
from supplies. Thieves and cutthroats were doing their worst and we passed the
days in terrible dread and anxiety. Could the battles go on. Would the bloody
work ever stop. There is no time in the memory of those days, which rise before
me with a more pleasant yet sad recollection than one day when Frank, my
favorite friend, proposed to teach me to shoot a pistol. 

He, a gentleman, always first asked my mother's permission. With her consent we
went a little way beyond the gate near the bars which opened to a pond where the
horses were led to drink. Frank placed a mark on one of the bars then put the
pistol in my hand, stood me round and told me how to proceed. I took aim and
blazed away. Didn't hit the mark, of course, but buried the ball in the high
post and thought I had done well to strike anything belonging to the bars. He
laughed merrily, took the weapon of war, stood by me and shot another ball in
the same cavity making a large hole in the post. I tried one more time and hit a
spot somewhere in the wheat field beyond. Then he gave me up as a poor scholar. 

He was to go away on the next day to ride back to war and to death. We leaned
over the rough bars for a quiet talk, he standing with a certain grace of his
own, his clean blue eyes sparkling softening as he told of past adventures and
pleasures while the setting sun threw a golden sheen on the waves of his soft
light hair falling from under the soldier cap pushed back on his handsome head. 

The sun was nearly down. The brawny black boys came and let down the bars to
water the horses. All sound seemed to soften under the glow of that beautiful
red sunset. We looked again at the bullet hole we had made in the post. Then he
looking gently down at me, said, " Sometime when I am gone back home or perhaps
killed by a Yankee bullet, you will stop and look at this to remember me and
this pleasant day. We turned and walked back to the house. 

There was a sadness in every sound. A Negro voice singing away off in the
distance seemed to send a wail that threw a gloom of dreadful fear over me and
Frank was singing the song he loved best in a low sad voice. "The Moon on The
Lea", nothing seemed more appropriate in those days than the words in the last
verse of that favorite old song.
 
"Warm hearts were not made for the day, love,
They pine when the stars fade away,love, 
I'd feast on the night while I may, love, 
Who knows what the morrow may bring. 
Friends may be parted 
The nearest ties may be broken. 
The dreariest cold death may come 
And sever the hopes 
That round us cling." 

Our soldier bade us a last goodbye next day. I remember he crossed the hall and
looked out the backyard. He said to take a view of his home for it might be the
last. We watched him ride away down the lane and through the grove out of sight
forever. Many times I stopped to look on the old post to think of the past even
in the few short weeks of his life and years after when our old home had passed
into the hands of strangers and houses being built over the dear old familiar
roads and walks. I saw it again off from the roadside leaning with age. The
rains and storms of many winters had rotted and enlarged the little bullet hole.
So large the pretty blue birds played in and out and built a nest little knowing
the history of their quiet cozy little house.

There are many living who yet remember the heavy rains and snows in February of
1865. Amid so much that was sorrowful was there ever such sorrowful weather. But
the greatest sorrow, the sorrow above them all, the angel of death came to our
home and chose our mother, the choicest, best, the brightest jewel there. Words
are too weak to express the grief and sorrow when we saw the light, the life and
comfort go out from our home leaving it cheerless forever. Oh' the heart
breaking grief and sadness in the days that followed after we laid her in the
cold wet earth. How hollow and empty seemed the comforting words of our friends
when they gathered round us in the most loving sympathy. And how sad and
cheerless the evenings when the rain came weeping through the leafless trees and
the February winds kept up a wailing and moaning against the eaves of the house
that could be called home no more. 

Those were days of sorrow and suspense together. The robbers were keeping up
their nightly work all over the country. We lived and breathed in dreadful fear
and heart sorrow. And the winter was gliding by and spring approaching. It was
in these sad sorrowful days that a very tragic incident happened under our eyes.


One night the soldiers who were staying with us were sent for in all haste to go
and arrest or stop a band of robbers who had gone to the homes of Mr. Frank
Thomas and Mr. Edward Gwin and were using every kind of punishment to make them
give up their gold. 

Several of our homemen were notified---most of them young boys. They got
together, equipped themselves and commanded by Captain Newsom quickly galloped
off to the scene of trouble. The young boys eager as any to join in the prey. By
this time the robbers had done their work with Mr. Thomas and left him bruised,
burnt and bleeding and had arrived at the house of Mr. Gwin and commenced to
torture him in the most horrible manner. Twisting his head with the sash cord as
it was called, burning his feet, dragging him about and using every conceivable
way of making him give up his money and when Mrs. Gwin tried to brush the fire
from his feet they shoved her back so roughly and with such force she fell and
struck her face making a scar that lasted her lifetime here.

In the midst of all this cruelty a mask fell from one of the men and Mr. Gwin
recognized the face of an acquaintance who had often sat at his table and
fireside. 

They had placed a sentinel at the gate. His dark outline was plainly marked by
the pale moonlight that fell on a thin sheet of snow. In a moment of pain and
indiscretion Mr. Gwin spoke the name of the one he had recognized and tried to
shame him. This was enough for the robbers fearing publicity, they decided to
hang him at once and had tied the knot and were in the act of drawing him up
when the sentry at the gate fired a signal of danger. Our soldiers were nearing
the scene. 

As they came galloping up, a Negro man belonging to Mr. Gwin ran up on the
opposite side and commanded in a loud voice, "Close up, boys, here comes your
reinforcements on this side." This was a ruse which frustrated the robbers and
they sprang to their horses and started right through our little line of three
soldiers, Captain Newsom, Mr. Wilson, Mr. Von Johnston and the home boys. 

Then the shooting commenced. Our home braves took fright and ran in every
direction. Some lying flat on and fairly hugging their horses, others falling
off and rolling in fence corners. Captain Newsom stood straight up in his
stirrups and commanded, he yelled, "rally up boys, rally up, where are you."
When he saw one of his men jump over into the old cotton field and take to his
heels he called out, "Where are you going there, you feather headed scamp you."
Only Captain Newsom, Mr. Wilson and Von of the attacking party stood their
ground but they saw. the others had flown and Von's horse was shot, he sprang to
Captain Newsom's horse behind him and they fled; and the band of robbers also
flew tearing down the fences and making their escape through the fields to the
woods. Von Johnson came near being killed or wounded, one of the band fired at
him but his horse, throwing up its head at the moment, received the ball. 

How well I remember hearing them tell how "War Eagle", the horse, spun round and
round making a red circle on the snow from the bleeding wound in its head. It
was a narrow escape and would have been sad indeed if after having gone through
the war he had been killed by a band of robbers in the very last days of that
long, awful cruel struggle. 

The community was all excitement for the next few days. A company of Guerrillas
hurried to the scene to join in the search for the robbers. The company was
commonly called "Captain Claiborns' Home Guard" but Claiborn and some of his men
were known to be a band of robbers. The commander, Jack Claiborn, was raised in
our section and was as common, uneducated an individual as is possible to be. 

It happened that he with his company was the party to catch or arrest two of the
supposed robbers. He brought them to our house for supper. The whole company
came with the two young men under arrest and tied together with a rope. Their
names were Joe McKenzie and James Luker from Paducah, Kentucky. They had been to
our home with other soldiers and friends many times before and had been
considered respectable soldiers. 

As I write of the incident I can almost feel the soft breezes of that spring
like evening when they were marched in under the power of one who deserved the
same treatment he was dealing out to them. They must have felt the humiliation
keenly. 

Hopelessness was depicted on their faces and was pitiful to see. They knew that
their fate lay in hands who would not hesitate at any thing, cruel or cowardly. 

When the guards marched them into the room where they had met and passed many
pleasant hours with other soldiers and friends, they dropped down together and
lay on the carpet with their hats drawn down covering the pale agonized faces
that were so soon to be blanched and cold in death. I shudder yet at the
recollections of their tragic death.. If they were among the ones who robbed and
abused our neighbors they certainly deserved punishment of some kind. God will
judge whether or not they should have received it at the hand of Jack Claiborn.

It was getting dark when Claiborn and others of his men left the supper table.
He in a cold unfeeling tone gave orders to one of his men to go out and tell the
Negroes to hunt up a couple of spades. My father asked them to let the boys come
in to supper. Claiborn laughed and answered, "They won't need no supper." Then
father begged him not to kill them but wait and give them a trial. It was like
pleading to a rock. 

I remember the orderly was sitting by the unfortunate young men and making a
mock of reading the bible to them. He was very young. ( I know his name and have
often wondered what kind of a man he made of himself). Claiborn commanded the
miserable boys to rise and with his men carrying the couple of spades marched
them out to the back of the stables and crossing a little belt of woods they
stopped. 

The boys praying for a chance for life. When they asked not to be shot in the
face, Claiborn made them comb their hair, roach it back to receive the balls.
Then ordered his men to shoot them to death. When weapons were fired we could
hear loud wails and cries. The Negroes told us that Claiborn's men yelled to
keep us from hearing the prisoners cry out. One of them in a most piteous and
frantic effort to escape sprang into a dense thicket of blackberry and thorn
bushes and was ordered to tear himself out and walk back to the side of his
comrade and to a fearful, horrible death. 

A few spades full of earth was hastily thrown over them. The men walked off and
came back to the house and somebody's boys were left yet warm under the cold
earth just back of the woods. When one of the men was asked where they had left
them he waved his hand in the direction and answered over on the hill. 

A sad lone whippoorwill was singing at the back of the garden seeming to cry in
plaintive notes, "Over on the hil1 over on the hill". The stars came out and
twinkled and the world moved on. This was only one of many thousands of
incidents equally as tragic that was enacted all over the South.


Claiborn seemed to take delight in the cruel things he did to keep order at
home, such as murdering a little boy because he saw him riding with a company of
homemade Yankees. The little fellow just wanted to ride a horse. Claiborn wanted
to make an example of him and went and shot the innocent child down in the dust
and left to be carried to his widowed mother a mangled corpse. He and many of
his men fell by the hands of avengers within the few short weeks that passed
between that time and peace. 

I could mention many other things of cruelty. The thieving and killing that was
carried on in the last months of the war was terrible to think of and is awful
to remember. Many poor, defenseless citizens and boys were killed for the
slightest provocation. 

On the 9th of April 1865, General Robert E. Lee surrendered to General Grant the
remnants of a foot-sore" and ragged, but grandest army the world has ever seen. 

After fighting for four long years without even the necessary comforts of
existence against the well equipped armies of the north, they laid down their
arms and returned to the old homes with saddened hearts only to find destruction
and the Negro advanced to master and under the dictation of Union scalawags
making laws to degrade the already crushed southern people who in war were
overpowered and defeated but today the greatest conquerors known in all history.


It was sometime in May when our soldier friends bade us a last farewell and
started to their homes and friends in the distance. Some of our neighbor boys
came back home footsore and weary with nothing but the memory of the past and
sympathy for the wives, mothers, sisters and sweethearts, who mourned for the
loved ones left behind scattered over the plains and battle fields. While the
grass sprang up and wild vines grew and matted together on the shallow graves. 

These little leaflets were first written long years ago when life with its hopes
lay mostly before me and many of the characters read and, laughed over the
recollections my crude pen brought back to them. 

In writing these memories I saw all the dead past living in the present and
seemed to hear the songs and words of lips long mute. The forms and faces of old
friends rise up vividly before me and it is hard to realize that the winters of
thirty years have rolled by since those lights and shadows were passing over us.


There are so many of those loved and loving souls gone on to the other side and,
Oh, the memory of it all!! To some of us life passed in sunshine, to others in
shadow, alas! for the vanity of this life.

.'This article was written the first time with fictitious names soon after the
Civil War, it was rewritten about 1895 with the real names. Mrs. Annie Cole
Hawkins was also an artist, the original copy has paintings on most every page. 

****************************************
JACK COOK 
DURING THE CIVIL WAR AND AFTERWARDS 
Cook like Claiborn was a bushwhacker. He lived on the east side of Bear Creek
about 2 miles South East of present New Prospect Church. Like Claiborn he was
killed shortly after close of the Civil War. He was killed while hiding in a
Cane Break on Bear Creek near the tree where Davy Crockett had carved that he
had killed a bear here.

The men searching party followed his brother as he took him food. One of the
men, riding a mule bareback and in a dead run, whipping the mule with his black
hat came by calling out "John Henry, we got him." 


JACK CLAIBORN
 
Jack Claiborn lived near Seminary Church approximately 1 mile east of the,
church, the next hill and on North side of the road on what later became known
as the Shankle place. 

It was here shortly after the Civil War that he was killed. It was reported that
be was trying to escape on horseback, his sister riding up behind him. He, like
Jack Cook, pretended to help some people and at the same time was robbing other
people. 

Once the war was over and veterans had returned, law and order was on their side
and their numbers were sufficient to hunt down and kill these bushwhackers, as
they were commonly called.

The above was told me by my grandmother and told her by her father John Henry
Scates. (Author Unknown)