Part 9

The next day I drove over to General Grant’s headquarters with that and some other letters, and gave them to him as I had often done before, to send through the lines. In a very short time I had an answer from the mother. This was her reply:--

“DEAR LADY,--My eyes are full of tears of joy as I write. Your letter made a rift in the black clouds of sorrow that have hung over us for weeks. It was like a beam of heavenly glory from the Throne. At first it seemed too good to believe; but the name and company and regiment are all right, and it must be so. Your letter found us all dressed in black. I thought I had reliable news that my boy was killed outside of Vicksburg, and I did not hope even to find his grave.

Now we are all dressed in white.”

Then followed some family news, and she closed with the following sentence:--

“Give my love to my dear boy, and tell him we are praying for him; and be assured, dear lady, when we pray for him, we will pray for you--that you may be kept safely through all the dangers of this cruel war.”

Frequent letters were sent by the mother, and I kept track of the boy and answered them.

The last time I saw him was just before the close of the war. He was well and strong, but was a prisoner in Camp Douglass, near Chicago, Ill. I hope he reached his home and mother safely.

SEARCHING FOR THE DEAD.

A lady from Philadelphia searched for days over the wide battle-field of Shiloh for the grave of her only child--a bright, beautiful, Christian boy, only eighteen. A detail of men was sent from the regiment to help search for the grave. She was quartered on our Sanitary boat, and I went with her. “They are all buried side by side--all we could find of our regiment,” said the sergeant who had charge of the squad of men sent out to help us search. We scattered, keeping in sight of each other, and in calling distance, and searched thoroughly; but it was not till the second day that we found the grave.

The mother found it first of all. The name was written with a pencil on a bit of board at the head. She gave a call, and waved her handkerchief, and then fell on her knees, with her arms over the mound of earth above her boy. He was all she had on earth; for he was the only child of his mother, and she was a widow. As we gathered about the grave, and saw her frail form convulsed by the sobs of agony she tried to conceal, the roughest and bravest of the men turned away to hide their tears. “He was a good soldier; a good Christian; we had few like him in the regiment,” were the kindly comments that were made by his companions in arms. As I lifted her away from the grave, her eyes, though full of tears, caught sight of a passion flower at the edge of the mound.

She plucked it and took it away as a keepsake, saying, “God is good to give me this token of his own love and passion.” The body was to be taken up and placed in the burial-case she had brought for the purpose. They did not wish her to see it. Officers came and tried to dissuade her. No, she must see him.

“No matter how mangled, I shall know him; and I must know that it is my son.”

And she had her way. He was brought up; and when the blanket which was his only coffin was unrolled, there he was as natural as life.

She clipped a few locks from his wealth of brown hair, and kneeling by her dead, thanked God that he had given her back the body of her son, and for the hope that animated her that they should meet again in heaven. If by any possibility these lines should fall under the eyes of that lady, whose name I have forgotten, she will recognize the story, and I am sure she will be glad to renew the acquaintance with the strange lady who helped her find her boy’s grave.

VERY TIMELY ARREST.

When the lines of battle were near Corinth, Miss., hearing of a hospital at some little distance from the town, I determined to visit it, taking supplies and delicacies with me. Two ladies accompanied me. The driver of the ambulance, who assumed to know all about the roads, and just where to find that hospital, and who had a splendid team of horses, drove us off in good style.

After we had been _en route_ for some time, going at a rapid pace, I questioned the driver, “Are you sure you are on the right road; it seems to me we have come a long way?”

“Oh, yes; I know the road very well.”

“I wonder what those men are running after,” remarked one of the ladies of the company.

It did really seem that men were springing up out of the ground. They were running after us and waving their hands; but the steady, heavy tramp of the feet of our horses drowned their voices; and we failed to hear the oft-repeated command, “Halt!” “Halt!” which came from every direction.

“Just look back! There are a lot of men on horseback coming at full speed,” said one of the ladies.

It was only a moment before the foremost rider was near us, and he thundered out in tones I shall never forget, “Halt!”

Our driver reined in his horses. “Turn your ambulance back as quickly as you can, you fool! You are driving right into the enemy’s camp.”

The driver whipped up his horses and retreated at a gallop, but not until the Confederate sharpshooters had begun to send their bullets flying after the men who had come to our rescue. Some of the missiles came dangerously near to the little ambulance company. The cans and bundles which had been placed upon the seats with so much care, and held with our outstretched hands, now went tumbling into a common heap on the floor, and before the race was over two of us were down on top of them. When we were at a safe distance from the enemy, the horsemen riding near us, a halt was called, and we gathered ourselves up and tried to look respectable after such a rough and tumble ride.

A captain rode round in front, and in a tone which made the cold shivers creep along the spinal column, demanded, “Who is in charge of this ambulance?”

“I am,” I answered with all the self-composure I could command at that instant.

“And so you were trying to reach the lines of the enemy with supplies and this good team and a Union soldier?”

“No, sir. I am as loyal as any man who wears shoulder-straps, and I can prove it. I was trying to reach a hospital with these supplies [naming the hospital]. The driver thought he knew the way, but it seems he did not.”

“That is not a likely story. That hospital is not in that direction at all; and I overtook you near the enemy’s camp, more than a mile beyond where we allow any one to go. Why did you run past our pickets who demanded you to halt?”

“I did not see any pickets, or hear any one call ‘Halt!’ until you came up.”

“You are all under arrest! Driver, you will drive to the headquarters of the commanding general.”

At these words my two lady friends turned very pale; but I laughed, as I was acquainted with the commanding general. Remembering my pass from the Secretary of War, and other important official papers in my possession, I said to the captain who rode alongside of the ambulance, “Would it make any change in your course if I should show you passes from high officials? I have no objection to going to headquarters, but it is a loss of time.”

“No, madam! You are all under arrest. The officers don’t give passes, or send good teams and Union soldiers, to take people into the rebel camps.”

It was of no use to say anything more, for the officer had told the truth. In due time we reached headquarters and were ordered out. I led the procession, clambering out over our scattered supplies as best I could. The captain marched in beside me. The captain gave the military salute, and was about to report that he had brought in these people, captured while trying to run the Union lines; but there were several officers there who knew me, who came forward to shake hands, and the general among them, and he was silenced.

“Is there anything I can do for you to-day, madam?” the general inquired in his most gracious manner.

“Yes, General, there is. I and this forlorn little company whom I have led, and misled, are under arrest for a most serious crime. We were on the enemy’s ground, and were pushing for the enemy’s camp at full speed, when this gallant officer rode down in the face of the enemy and rescued us. I want to thank him before you all.”

Of course further explanation was made, and we were all released. The ambulance driver and myself were admonished “to make certain thereafter that we were on the right road.” I shook hands with the captain and thanked him, and the officers present congratulated him, and we all left headquarters in high spirits.

SAVING THE LIFE OF YOUNG PIKE,

BROTHER OF MRS. SUE PIKE SANDERS, PAST NATIONAL PRESIDENT, W. R. C.

The atmosphere was thick with dust, and stifling with the sulphurous smoke that came in clouds from the near battle-field, as I drove around Vicksburg. The air was as hot as a furnace, under the pitiless rays of a June sun, and vibrated with the roar and thunder of heavy artillery and bursting shells, till every nerve was on the rack.

It was unusually late, and I was weary and heartsick.

But as I was on my way to my quarters, I noticed a soldier lying in a field not far from the main travelled road. There was something in the appearance of the man that attracted my attention, and I stopped my carriage and went to him.

At first I thought he was dead; but a closer examination convinced me that he was alive.

The shades of night were gathering around us, and the point where he lay was one of unusual danger.

I hurried back to my carriage, and brought water and restoratives, and began an earnest effort to resuscitate him.

It was not long till he opened his great brown eyes in a questioning way.

“Poor boy!” I said in pitying tones; but he closed his eyes as though he had not fully understood.

After a little he looked up into my face, and said in a whisper,--

“They left me here to die.”

“Oh, but you will be taken care of now, and you’ll get well. Don’t think about dying--just think how soon you will be well again.”

He was a young soldier, not much if any over sixteen or eighteen years old. He was lying there, with all his heavy army clothing on, in a most pitiable condition.

There was a hospital not very far away; and leaving George, my driver, to minister to him, I went up to the hospital and called for the surgeon in charge.

“There is a soldier lying down here near the road who is nearly dead. Will you not have him brought up, and see what you can do for him?” I said.

“Why, isn’t he dead yet?” exclaimed an attendant.

I then learned that the regiment to which the young soldier belonged had been ordered out to the Big Black River, and that all the sick in their regimental hospital had been brought with them to that point--there unloaded and reported to the hospital authorities. The attendants had come down and taken all but this one man, and had left him there to die alone. I was righteously indignant, and I denounced the whole proceeding as _inhuman and scandalous_.

The surgeon and attendants were alarmed.

“Such carelessness on the part of the surgeon, and brutality on the part of men charged with the care of the sick and wounded, were disgraceful!” I declared.

It was not many minutes till the surgeon and attendants with a stretcher were at his side.

Everything that could possibly be done for any one was done for him.

The surgeons had hard work to save him, however.

If I had passed him by unnoticed, they all agreed that he would have been dead by the next morning.

Day after day as I drove about the lines I ministered to him till he was out of danger.

Years passed before I had the privilege of seeing him again. Then he was a great stalwart man, and bore the title of Hon. E. M. Pike, member of the Senate of Illinois.

He is now living at Chenoa, Ill., has a lovely wife and two children, a son and daughter full-grown. He has a large manufacturing establishment there, and is beloved and honored by all who know him.

He has given good proof that he was well worth saving.

A VISIT FROM GENERAL GRANT AND GENERAL McPHERSON.

A few days after the surrender of Vicksburg, I called at General Grant’s headquarters on business.

Generals McPherson and Rawlins were the only officials present with him. I was received most cordially, and inquiries were made by General Grant at once, as to whether the house he had assigned to me was comfortable and satisfactory.

I assured him that it was, and spoke with great enthusiasm of the colored servants left in charge of the property by the owners, who had fled from Vicksburg before the siege. I was especially enthusiastic about the cook.

“Why don’t you invite us up to test her cookery?” questioned General McPherson. I hardly knew what to say, as I had made it a rule to shun all appearances of social life.

“Oh, you would not come; you are all too busy paroling prisoners,” I answered.

“Oh, yes! we would certainly come if you should invite us. Is not that so, General Grant?”

“I shall certainly come if invited,” was General Grant’s reply.

“Then I most cordially invite you.”

“When shall we come?” questioned General McPherson.

“To-morrow, if that will suit you.”

That being satisfactory, they agreed to come the next day at one o’clock, General Rawlins being included in the invitation, which he laughingly said, “We have given ourselves.”

When I returned to my quarters that noon, and announced that General Grant and two other generals were to dine with me the next day, there was great consternation and excitement. I had tented with Mrs. General Stone during the siege, and she had come into Vicksburg and occupied the house with me. She was dismayed at the news. She declared that there was not one decent tablecloth on the premises, that there were no two napkins alike, or two dishes that matched. “The fact is,” she said, “everything in this house mismatches. And how are you going to get them into the dining-room with all the steps torn away? Are they to walk up that inclined plane on the boards?”

I told her I did not know of any other way; but as we had to perform that feat three times a day, I had no doubt they could get up from the hall to the dining-room once. Aunt Dinah, the cook, who was at the head of the colored members of the household, was enthusiastic.

“I tell you, honey, I’ll mak ebery ding shine, an’ I’ll hab de tablecloth so slick a gnat’s heel would fly up on it.”

All the colored people were jubilant. It would be impossible to describe their antics. The little children danced a jubilee; jumping up and down, keeping up a chorus: “Ginnel Grant’s a-cummen! Ginnel Grant’s a-cummen! Ginnel Grant’s de bigest ginnel of dem all!”

It was not an hour till every colored man, woman, and child in that part of the town knew that at a certain hour the next day General Grant was to be at that house. The colored men searched every sutler’s shop for supplies, and Aunt Dinah did her best in the cooking line. The next morning I went out among the hospitals as usual, but came home before noon, so as to be there when my guests arrived. I found all the neighboring fences about the grounds lined with colored people.

Mrs. Stone said to me as soon as I came in,--

“Now, you must not laugh or object, but Aunt Dinah has sent and got two professional waiters; they are here now, dressed in broadcloth, with swallow-tailed coats and white vests and white gloves.”

Of course I did laugh, and she laughed quite as heartily as myself, at the incongruity of the arrangement. Here, in one of the deserted houses of Vicksburg, that a shell had crashed through, making it almost impossible to get into the dining-room, with nothing in the way of table-outfit but the most ordinary camping utensils, we had two professional waiters, rigged out in a style that could hardly be matched at a state dinner at the presidential mansion, we were to receive great generals. It was indeed laughable. Aunt Dinah felt she ought to explain the matter to me.

“Honey, I want to ’splain ’bout dese ’fessional watahs. Our common niggahs would never do to wait on fine gentlemen. You see, dey’s awkard an’ hain’t got no good close. So I just hir’d dese fashionable watahs case I wanted to have the thing done up right.”

Of course I made no objections. At the appointed hour, General Grant, dressed in military uniform, riding his little black horse that had carried him so often around the fiery lines of Vicksburg during the siege, and General McPherson, dressed in elegant military fashion, tall, stately, commanding, and splendidly mounted, rode up in front of our house.

General Stone, who had commanded the extreme right during the siege, and who had come up from his military camp to dine with us that day, went out and hitched their horses, as there were no orderlies with them.

General Rawlins, who was prevented at the last moment from coming, sent his regrets. Black faces were peeping out from the near houses, and the fences were black with colored people. It was perhaps the one chance of their lives to see their deliverer, the great captain who had opened the prison-house of Vicksburg, and given liberty to all the people.

Everything passed off very pleasantly. When dinner was announced, taking the arm of General Grant, I led the way to the dining-room. Mrs. General Stone took the arm of General McPherson, General Stone having already gone into the dining-room to help us up. The stairs being torn away, and the ascent being made on two planks that stood at an angle of forty-five degrees, he reached down his hands and helped us up. When the two great commanders reached the dining-room, they stood for some time by the broken walls and stairs, and discussed shells as destructive missiles, and speculated as to which battery sent that shell crashing through the house. They finally decided that it came from one of Admiral Porter’s gunboats.

The dinner followed, and was most thoroughly enjoyed. All the praise I had given our cook she justified in that grandest effort of her life.

Aunt Dinah held the door a little ajar so that she could see and hear all that was going on in the dining-room. She said to me afterwards, with a satisfied chuckle, “Oh! Laws a massa, didn’t dey praise my cooken! I never felt so big in my life. Seems to me I’se one of the biggest cooks in the world.”

The professional waiters were skilled and graceful, even though a napkin over a tin platter was used as a tray.

Aunt Dinah said very confidentially afterwards to me,--

“You see, honey, ’twould neber hab done to hab our niggahs done it. T’ey’d been most scar’t to death, and sure to spill something. It won’t do to hab common niggahs waten on high an’ mighty folks like big ginnels.”

The guests enjoyed the dinner and the after visit. The siege; the surrender; the terms of parole; the condition of the people who had been shut up in the city during the siege; their life in the caves; the condition of the hospitals; and “_what next?_” were freely discussed in that frank and easy way that characterized General Grant when he was surrounded by a group of friends he could trust.

When the two great generals took their leave, every colored person in the neighborhood knew that the smaller man was General Grant, and they were watching to get another glimpse of him. Both generals thanked us for inviting them, and assured us that it was the most restful, home-like visit they had enjoyed since the war began.

It was my privilege to dine with them on several occasions after that, and to dine with General Grant at the White House during his presidential terms; but there was not the enthusiasm and novelty on those occasions that clustered around the dinner and visit in the shell-wrecked house after the fall of Vicksburg.

General and Mrs. Stone live at their old home in Mount Pleasant, Iowa; but the two great captains of the Union hosts are gone--McPherson falling in the midst of the struggle on the bloody field of strife near Atlanta, Ga., and Grant, after passing through untold perils, passing peacefully away, and even in death immortalizing Mount McGregor.

LIBERTY HICKS.

As we were on our way to the brick church hospital, at Helena, Ark., a very large man, with his hair curled and hanging over his shoulders, passed us and looked back, my secretary and myself both imagined, in an impudent way. When we reached the hospital we found him there. He put himself in our way as though he wished to speak with us, but we both avoided him. At last he came up and said to me, “Madam, I want to speak with you; there is a man over here that the doctor thinks will die. I thought maybe you’d come over and pray with him. I’ve been trying to lead him to trust the Lord Jesus, but he don’t seem to find the way.”

How that great stalwart fellow was transfigured before us from a rowdy to a saint. And as we went about the hospital everybody said, “If it wasn’t for Liberty Hicks I don’t know what we would do.” It was not long till a great cake of ice was floating about in the barrel of tepid water that stood near the pulpit, and lemons from our supply were in many a fever-parched hand. We found out afterwards that Liberty Hicks was an Illinois soldier, and though big, coarse, and strong of body, he was as tender in his ministrations as a woman, and as faithful as tender. And although it was not our privilege to ever meet him again, our good wishes have ever followed him.

Liberty Hicks was a grand hospital worker. I heard of his labors afterwards, for he accompanied the sick up the river. But like many others he overworked, and I learn from his daughter who lives near him in Illinois that he is permanently disabled. It must, however, be a great consolation to him now, in his old age, to know that by his faithful services he saved many precious lives.

TRADING TOBACCO FOR COFFEE.

Governor Samuel J. Kirkwood and some of the state officials of Iowa came down to visit the army during the siege of Vicksburg. I was invited to go with the distinguished visitors on a tour of inspection, as was also Mrs. General Stone.

Among the points of danger visited was the fortifications on the “Extreme Right,” which was up above Vicksburg and down to the water’s edge. The fortifications were so near together that the men could talk back and forth.

Our boys had a printing-press and type, and there were men who could write sensational news of the success of the Union army to order.

They would buy a St. Louis paper, and then get out an “Extra.”

“SURRENDER OF LEE--CAPTURE OF JEFF. DAVIS--RICHMOND TAKEN.”

The particulars of all these events would be given in the most plausible and convincing manner.

A stone was tied to the papers, and some wag would call out,--

“Say, Rebs, do you want the latest news? Newspapers are just in from St. Louis. The war is over.”

“Yes, throw them over;” and over they would go.

But the Confederates would not believe a word unless it was favorable to their cause, and they laughed loud and long over the “lies of the Yanks.” But they kept it up on the principle that “everything is fair in war.”

“Put up your head above the embankment, and you will soon see whether the war is over or not,” the soldiers on the other side would say. On that day, while we stood there, some of the Iowa officials put their hats on their canes, and had them perforated by bullets.

A voice came over the ramparts, “Say, Yanks, do you want some tobacker?”

“Yes.”

“Will you trade coffee for tobacker?”

“Yes; throw it over, and we will throw over enough coffee to pay for it.”

We waited in expectation a little while, then a warning came,--

“Look out there, Yanks!”

All stepped back out of danger. A cloth that had once been white, but had evidently been in the trenches, came over filled with a lot of the most abominable tobacco I had ever seen.

After due inspection, the cloth was shaken a few times and filled with coffee, and a warning cry given,--

“Look out, Rebs!” and over the coffee went.