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BATTLE OF DOLINSBURG.—HEROIC CONDUCT OF COL. TOM ANDERSON

—REPORTED DEAD.—HIS WIFE REFUSES TO BELIEVE THE REPORT.

“There was speech in their dumbness, language in their very

gesture, they looked as they had heard of a world ransomed,

or one destroyed, a notable passion of wonder appeared in

them; but the wisest beholder, that knew no more but seeing

could not say, if the importance were joy or sorrow; but in

the extremity of the one it must needs be.”—Shakespeare

The next morning the march was resumed. At an early hour the whole army was in motion on different roads with the general understanding that the command would close in line around the west side of the fortress that afternoon. The weather being very disagreeable for marching, there was delay on the roads, but, finally, late in the evening the army commenced closing in and forming its line. The centre was commanded by General Smote; the left, resting north, on the river, commanded by General Waterberry, and the right, resting on an almost impassable slough, connecting with the river, commanded by General McGovern. In moving into position the place was found to be well protected by a heavy abatis and chevaux-de-frise, from point to point, above and below the fortress. This seemed impassable, and the enemy, seeing our army closing in around them, kept up a terrible fire on our advancing columns, causing us very severe loss in getting into position. It was at a late hour in the night (when our lines were only partially formed) that our army rested, as best as they could, in the snow and sleet; but not a murmur was heard. The next morning our lines were advanced to the front and the impediments removed as much as possible; though a severe and deadly fire was poured upon our men most of the day. Late in the afternoon an assault was ordered in the centre, and a bloody affair it was; again and again our brave fellows moved on the works, but were as often driven back with severe loss. About 'o'clock Gen. Silent came riding along with an orderly by his side, his staff having been sent in different directions with orders. He came up to where Col. Anderson was sitting on his horse, watching the engagement in the centre. Gen. Silent, after passing the compliments of the day, said to the Colonel:

“'Your engagement at Snake Creek (that being the name of the creek where the Colonel met the enemy the day before) was a rather brilliant affair as I learn it.'

“'Yes,' said the Colonel; 'it was my first attempt at commanding in a battle, but we had the best of it.'

“'Yes,' said the General; 'and now I want to see if you can do as well here. I wish you to assault the enemy's works in this low ground on the right, in order to draw some of his forces away from the centre; our forces are having a hard time of it there.'

“Col. Anderson gave the order at once to prepare for action—knapsacks and blankets were thrown off, and the assaulting column formed. The General rode away after saying:

“'It is not imperative that you enter their works; but make the assault as effectual as you can without too great a sacrifice of men.'

“The Colonel looked at the ground over which they must pass and viewed the works with his glass, but said not one word save to give the command 'Forward!' On, on they went, and as they moved under a torrent of leaden hail, men fell dead and wounded at every step; but they went right up to the mouths of the cannon. There they stood and poured volley after volley into the enemy, until at last he began to give way, when re-enforcements came from the centre, as was desired. The Colonel's force could stand no longer. Sullenly they fell back to a strip of woods when night closed in, and the battle ceased for the day.

“Our lines were much nearer the enemy than in the morning.

“The centre held their ground at last, and all was still, Part of the night was employed in hunting the dead and wounded. Many were wounded and frozen to death, being left on the ground during the night. The suffering in front of Dolinsburg was something almost indescribable—it snowed, sleeted, hailed and froze during the whole of the night. The troops did not sleep, nor did they attempt it; they had to form into squads and walk around trees all night. No fires could be lighted—they were so close to the enemy's entrenchments. Just at daylight the sharp sound of their skirmishers was heard. They had concluded to move out on our right and attack us on our flank, and open the way for the escape of their army. On they came. Our line was soon formed and our musketry opened. During the night one of our batteries had been brought up and given position on a slight elevation to the right of Col. Anderson's centre. The enemy opened furiously on our line, and in a few minutes our battery was knocked to pieces and was charged by infantry. Here there was a bloody conflict; men fell by the score; the snow was reddened by the blood of both patriots and traitors. The smoke seemed to hover around the trees and underbrush, as if to conceal the contending forces from each other. The flame of musketry and the red glare of the cannons lighted up the scene with a lurid tint. Limbs fell from the trees, and the ground was mown as smoothly of weeds and underbrush as if by a scythe. Our right was under orders to hold their position at all hazards. The battle, dreadful and bloody, continued. By degrees the troops on the right of Col. Anderson gave way and abandoned the field. At noon but one regiment besides Col. Anderson's withstood the enemy on the right of our line. They were terribly cut up, and having no food, were nearly exhausted. Their ammunition was growing scarce, none having been brought up to this point for their supply. In this condition they stood like a wall, under the most galling fire of artillery and musketry, their comrades falling like grass before the sickle. At length the enemy's cavalry appeared in the rear; not in line, but as if observing the battle with a view of taking advantage at the proper time of any mishap that might occur in our lines. Col. Anderson seeing this, and feeling that his command was now in great peril, conceived the idea of a bayonet charge on the line to his front, and so ordered it.

--

“His line moved forward, in a double-quick, and with a shout drove the enemy, who was stampeded by the impetuous assault. The Colonel, being on foot, led his men right up to the works, the enemy having been driven inside. As he leaped forward to them, with sword in hand, calling to his men, 'Come on, my boys,' he fell, as they then thought, mortally wounded. The enemy seeing this made a fresh assault, and drove our force back. Col. Anderson was left on the field supposed to be dead. The battle raged all along the line. Our right was driven and forced under the brow of a hill. While under this partial shelter a portion of the enemy made their escape through this unoccupied part of the field. At this time our left made a successful assault upon the works of the enemy, capturing their outer line and forcing them into their more contracted lines but more strongly fortified. The centre had made several ineffectual assaults and had lost in killed and wounded very heavily. Re-enforcements came to the right, and a renewal of the assault all along the line was ordered. To the work of blood and death the men again came forward with a heroic will, and for about an hour the battle was like the long roll on a thousand drums. The air was filled with shells; the heavens were lighted up as if meteors were flying in all directions; the rumbling of artillery was heard as batteries changed position, and the loud commands of excited officers. On and on moved the serried masses. As the lines opened by the dropping of the dead and wounded, 'close up, boys,' could be heard. It was now about dusk. One grand charge all along the line, one grand shout, 'up with the flag, boys!'—all was over, the fortress was ours, and the Stars and Stripes floated over Dolinsburg. That night, however, was a night of gloom and sorrow in our army. Gen. McGovern was killed in the last assault. Gen. Smote was badly wounded and died a few days later. Gen. Waterberry, a brave and gallant officer, fell a few weeks later at the battle of Pittskuk.”

“I remember when Waterberry fell, poor fellow,” said Col. Bush.

“Yes, many a poor fellow lost his life in those two battles. We captured a great number of prisoners. Gen. Bertram surrendered. Many of his leading officers were killed and wounded, and some made their escape through the opening in our line on the right, where Col. Anderson fell wounded.”

Dr. Adams asked: “Uncle Daniel, did you ever hear of him? Was his body found?”

“Yes, Doctor, and the story of that and his recovery is a very singular one. Peter searched diligently for him, but failed to find him; this distressed him so much that he decided to ask for a leave and return home, so as to stay a short time with the family and do what he could to help us bear the sorrow of the Colonel's supposed death. After our grief-stricken family could have the patience to listen to his recitals, he gave us the story just as I have told it. Mrs. Anderson, although stricken down with grief, insisted that her husband was not killed, or he would have been found among the slain; that a man of such marked features would have been noticed by some one who did the interring. The Captain insisted that there could be no doubt but that he was killed. Time passed on, but little Mary would continually ask, 'If her papa was dead?' 'Was he shot?' Who had killed him?' and a thousand other questions which constantly kept her mother thinking of the Colonel's fate, and soon she determined to go in search of him. Peter was leaving for his regiment, now under command of Colonel Rice. Col. Anderson having been reported as killed, Rice had been promoted Colonel, and the regiment had moved with the army in a southwesterly direction some considerable distance from Dolinsburg. Still there had been troops left there, so that it was perfectly safe to visit the battle-field, there being no rebel force in that part of the country at that time. I agreed to go with her, and made all the arrangements necessary for the family; the farm of Col. David having been looked after, and our family-school reorganized under Jennie, which had become demoralized by the news of Col. Anderson's death. In the meantime we had heard from Col. David and James, who were well, and also had letters from Stephen and Henry; both had joined the army: Stephen in an infantry regiment from Ohio, where he lived, and Henry in a cavalry regiment from Michigan, where he had been employed for a time in surveying for a company; so at this time I had one son left not yet in the army, he being my third son, Jackson, who was then engaged in railroading in Minnesota. We had not heard from him for some time, and his mother was sorely troubled, expecting soon to hear of the last of the Lyons being in the army. This, she thought, was a little more than ought to be required of any one family.”

“So say I, Uncle Daniel,” spoke up several of the listeners.

“True, true; but our country's demands should be satisfied by her citizens, no matter what they may be. Well, when all was arranged, Mary Anderson and I started. We went as far as we could by cars and boat, and then obtained horses and traveled on horseback to Dolinsburg. Coming to the pickets we were halted, and, on telling our errand and where we were from, we were taken to the headquarters of Col. Harden, who was in command of the post. We were well received and most hospitably treated by himself and officers. They all sympathized with Mrs. Anderson; knew of the Colonel's gallant conduct in battle, but all thought there was no use of a search for him; that he was certainly killed in charging the works near the fort. They showed us where he made the assault. After resting for the night we started on our search, Capt. Day accompanying us as guide and protector. We first went to the place where the Colonel fell, but there was nothing but long trenches, where the dead had been buried. We passed over the battle-field, which was mowed down smoothly by bullets. Limbs of trees had fallen in confusion, furrows were plowed in the ground by shell, horses' skeletons, broken muskets, pieces of wagons, parts of caissons, spokes, ammunition boxes, pieces of blankets, coats, pantaloons, parts of tents—everything in pieces, the evidences of a great contest were marked at every step. Late in the afternoon, worn out with walking and the excitement, we returned, very much disheartened. We dined on soldier's fare, which seemed to us delicious. After discussing the battle and the probabilities of the result of the war until a late hour, we retired to the camp cots for a night's rest. Next morning we got ready for a start. Mary Anderson inquired of Col. Harden which way the rebels who got through our lines had retreated. He answered her that they retreated on a road along the river up stream some twenty-five miles, and then crossed on a boat that had come down the river on its way to Dolinsburg, which was stopped by the retreating rebels. Mary said:

“'Uncle Daniel, I am going to that place if I can be allowed to do so.'

“I replied: 'This would be a very tiresome and fruitless trip, my child; but if you will be any better satisfied by doing so, I will make it with you.'

“Col. Harden said he would send a small escort for protection, though there was no danger of any force of the enemy, but there probably would be some wicked people there who might do us some harm. He had our horses brought out, and sent Capt. Day and ten mounted men with us. The road was somewhat rough, but very passable for saddle-horses. When we had gone about ten miles we met a colored boy, some fourteen years old, who said he was going to Dolinsburg. Mrs. Anderson rode on with Capt. Day. The escort was in front of them. I asked the boy why he was going to Dolinsburg. He said he lived about ten miles further up the river, and that an old colored woman, called 'Aunt Martha,' had sent him down to see if any soldiers were at Dolinsburg; and if so, to tell them that there was a Union officer at her house, sick.

“'Do you know his name?' I asked.

“'No, sir; but Aunt Martha calls him Massa Tom.'

“I trembled all over. My blood was hot and cold by turns.

“'When and how did he come there?” asked.

“He said that the rebels had left him. My brain was now dizzy, and I told him to turn back and take me to the place. We rode past the rest of the company while they were resting for a short time. I told them I would ride on to the place where the river was crossed, and wait there for them. Mary was hearing all she could from Capt. Day about the battle, and so she raised no objections. I inquired of the boy as to the appearance of the sick officer. He described him as very pale, black hair, eyes and beard. I could understand his being pale, and felt sure it was Col. Anderson. I asked the boy if he ever spoke to him. He said he had not, but Aunt Martha talked to him about his wife and little girl and Uncle Daniel. I now was positive it was Tom. I reeled in my saddle and nearly fell from my horse. What should I do? I could not tell Mary, for if it proved not to be him she would not be able to bear it. So I rode on. After a long time we came to the house. It was some hundred paces from the road, a square log cabin or hut, occupied by an old colored woman ('Aunt Martha ') and her husband('Ham'), both over sixty years, I should judge.

--

“The old aunty was in the yard, a smooth, hard, flat piece of ground, fenced off by a low fence, about four rails high, which a man could easily step over. I saluted her with:

“'How do you do, aunty, do you live here?'

“'Yes, sa, I lives heah—me and Ham, my ole man. What is you, massa? Is you Union or is you “Sesh?”'

“'Oh! I am a Union man,' I replied.

“'Den I is glad to see you. I'll jes' call Ham. He runned away when he seed you. He's feared; yes, he's dat. He isn't gwine wid de “Sesh” any mo'.'

“'Well, aunty, have you a Union officer in your cabin, sick?'

“'Well, now, massa, I'se jes' got to know who you is afore I 'fess on dat case.'

“'Well, aunty, I am Daniel Lyon, sometimes called “Uncle Daniel.”'

“'Afore God, is dat you, Massa Lyon? Jes' get off yo' hoss an' wait rite heah; I be back in a bit.'

“She hobbled in, evidently to speak to the Colonel. I waited quietly until she returned. Just then the others came in sight, and I sent the boy to halt them. Aunty came out so excited that she could hardly speak.

“'Sho' as you is born'd, dat Massa Tom knows you; but, sah, he's powerful weak, an' you must exclose who yo' is to him in a most delicacious manner, or you'll incite him. He's 'fraid, sah, dat you is a exposter.'

“'O, no, aunty, I am his uncle and benefactor.'

“'Yo'is what?'

“'His uncle,'

“'No, but de oder t'ing what you is?'

“'His benefactor.'

“'Glory to God! Is you? May de Laud shine his light in dis pore house, an' brush away de fears ob dis misfortunate famly.'

“Then she called Ham.

“'Oh, yo' Ham, come heah.'

“I entered the cabin and beheld Col. Anderson, as pale as death, lying on a poor, broken-down bed. I knelt by his side upon the floor and wept aloud. The Colonel could only whisper. Extending his hand, while the great tears were rolling down his face, he asked:

“'Is my wife with you? How is my child?'

“He was greatly excited and very weak. I arose from his bedside and told him who were coming, and begged him to be calm. Aunty brought some cloths and laid on his breast, saying to him:

“'Now, Massa Tom, you mus' be still. Don' be like I tole you. You mussent get 'cited now—nuffln of the kine. Jes' see de folks like yo' allers done. Dey's come a mighty long ways to fine yo'. Wish dey stay away 'til I cure yo'; but spose it's all rite. De good Laud he done knowed de bes'. Maybe de “Sesh” come take him some day afore long, so de Laud he knows what he wants. Bress de good Laud.'

“'I went out to meet the others. Mary at once asked me what the matter was. I spoke as gently as I could, and said:

“'Mary, Tom is still alive.'

“She instantly leaped from her horse and made for the cabin, and in an instant was at the bedside of her husband, covering his face with kisses and tears. Tom was too weak to more than whisper 'my dear wife,' and weep in silence. Old Ham had come in, and stood in one corner of the room looking on the scene with his hands locked together over his head. He was heard to say over and over in a low tone: “'De Lord bress dese chilien.' “Aunt Martha took hold of Mary, saying: “'Deah Misses, yo' jes' stop dat cryin'. You ought to be 'joiced dat Massa Tom be libbin. You ought ter seed him when de “Sesh” fotched him heah. I tell you dat was de time what fotched me down, I done got rite on my old knees an' axed de good Laud to spar dis good Massa Tom. I knowed him the berry minute I laid my eyes on him. Many's de time I make his bed and cook his dinnah. I tell you all about dat. Why, dem “Sesh,” when dey fetch Massa Tom heah in de old wagon, dey des frowed him out like he been a hog, and tole Ham an' me dat we mus' dig a hole and put him in; dat we be killed if we don't. I done went and looked at him, an' tole Ham dat he wasn't dead; dat he was wa'm an' bredin. So Ham an' me jes' carried him into dis house, an' got blankets and kivers, and wash him wid wa'm water, and took keer on him; setted up all de time, one or bofe on us, and kep' him good an' wa'm, an yo' see he's done gittin' well. De good Laud heah our prayers, an' he whisper to pore ole Marfa dat he gwine to fetch him out for some good he gwine to do for us pore people. Bress de Laud; he is good to us. I tell yo', de man what said to dig a hole fo' him is a bad man; his name is Whitthorne. I 'member de name kase I knowed de Whitthornes in Jackson, Miss., when I libbed there. Yes, dat so.'

“At this Mary broke down again. She felt sure that this was some of her people. Aunty continued:

“'Ole Massa Gawge (George), that we b'longed to, move upheah six year ago, on dis place, from Jackson. He libbed up dar on the hill in dat white house dat yo' see up dar, dat am locked up an' no one is in it. Dey got lot ob t'ings in dar. When de Union whip de Sesh at Dolins-burg, and de Sesh come dis way, gwine home or some-whar, den Massa Gawge an' all de famly dey go, too, an' take all de niggers 'cepin' me an' Ham. Dey say we's too ole, an' dey done lef us to take keer ob de place; dey leabe de smoke-house so we kin git in an' git sumpin to eat. Well, dey is plenty in dar, an' we lib all right, and, bress de Laud, dat save Massa Tom's life. De good Laud fix it dat way, sho' as yo' born. He take tkeer ob de good folks.'

“Old Ham, who had been silent, broke out:

“'Yes, dat's so, massa, dat's so. De Laud do do dis. He done told me up at de smoke-house to take all dat we wanted, an' dat when Massa Tom done get well, dat we mus go wid him 'way from heah an' lib with Massa Tom; dat de Sesh kill us when dey find out we done cure him up. Yes, sah, de Laud say dat to me, sho.'

“I said to him: 'Ham, are you sure the Lord said that; did you not dream it, or was it not Aunt Martha that said it?'

“'No, massa, no; de Laud told me, sho! I know 'twas he. De words come right down frough de smokehouse when I was gittin' meal to make de gruel for Massa Tom. O, no, massa; Martha was down heah. I told Martha when I come back.'

“'Well, Ham, what did Martha say?'

“'She say dat we must 'bey de Lord; dat he was mo' our massa den Massa George; don't we b'longs to de Laud mo' dan to Massa George. Den I say dat's well, Martha; you know, and if you b'lieve in dat we go. An' we is gwine wid Massa, sho.'

“'If you should go, Ham, they would accuse us of stealing you, and have us arrested for it.'

“'Well, I doesn't know 'bout dat. I knows we can steal our ownself away, an' go to de place whar Massa Tom lib; I knows dat. We's gwine; dat's done fix; we's gwine.'

“The Colonel had been listening, and smiled to find that these two good old people loved him so, and he nodded his head to Ham, which caused him to laugh immoderately.

“'It's done fix,' said Ham, and he left the cabin.

“I said: 'Aunty, have you any children?'

“'Laud bless yo' good soul, we has six chilien some whar; don't know whar. Massa George he sole our chilien 'way from us soon as dey was six year old. I never see any ob dem since den; neber heard anything 'bout dem. He sole 'em 'way down on de Gulf some whar; neber would tell us. Dey done forgot us, or whar we lib, long go; dey so young when dey taken 'way, O, dey do dat way, so de ole folks not fine 'em. I tell you, Massa Lyon, 'tis purty hard on ole folks, to lose de chilien dat way. If dey die an' de Laud take dem 'way, dat's all rite; de Laud know he own business; but when dey sole 'way, dat hard. You see, dese people dey got chilien, but dey tink we no keer for our'n. Dat is whar dey don't know. We does keer jes as much as de white folks, but we can't help ourself, dats all. I tell you dat's bad. O, I cry myself nearly to deff 'bout my chilien; but all do no good; dey done gone; I neber see dem any mo'. If I was to, dey would not know me, an' me not know dem; so no good now to cry any mo'; dey be all dead, maybe—hope dey am—den dey work for de Laud and Master all de time, and not be worked all de time fo' de people for nuffin' an' doin' no good. Yes, I hope dey is all done dead. Wish I knowed dey was, den I'd be feelin' good. You see, me an' Ham talked dis all ober. We neber see our chilien no mo' no matter whar we is; so we am gwine where we will be counted wid de people an' not wid de cattle. Yes, sah; dat's what we's got in our heads; dar's no use tryin' to put it out; it in dar, an' dar it stay. We's gwine, sho'.'

“'Well, well, aunty, all right; I will see that you go. I will take the consequences. I will not see as good an old couple as you are held like cattle if I can help it.'

“The old woman shouted 'glory,' and hobbled out of the cabin, I presume, to tell Ham what I had said.

“By this time the Colonel had recovered somewhat from his excitement, and quietly and in a low voice told us how he came to be there. He said that when he was wounded on the works of Dolinsburg and left for dead, that some one came along and stanched the flow of blood by binding some cloth around the wound saturated with something—his wound was through the right breast, touching slightly the right lung—that in the afternoon, when a portion of the rebel army passed over the ground that he occupied, Col. Whitthorne, his wife's brother, discovered him and had him placed in one of his ambulances, bringing him away; had no knowledge as to what his intention was—whether to take him to some place of safety—some hospital, or let him die and bury him where his remains could afterwards be found by his family; that up to within a few days he had no idea where he was; that these old colored people had kept his whereabouts a profound secret, except among a few of their race whom they could trust; that when he found a force was stationed at Dolinsburg, he got them to send there and give the information, so that he might make some arrangement about getting away, for fear of recapture by the enemy, and they had sent the boy that we met. He was anxious to get away, and thought that he could bear being moved in some easy conveyance to Dolinsburg in two or three days' travel. We consulted together, and Capt. Day sent a messenger back with a letter to Col. Harden, asking him to send an ambulance and a surgeon the next day, we remaining with the Colonel until their coming. There was plenty of fodder at the plantation barns, and the men took care of the horses. Aunty prepared a sufficient quantity of wholesome food for ourselves. We passed the night without much sleep, the Captain and I using our chairs for beds, as there was not sufficient accommodation for us all; Mrs. Anderson slept on the bed by her husband, and the men found comfortable quarters in the stables. We enjoyed ourselves, however, hearing Aunt Martha and Ham tell us how they had taken care of the Colonel; how they had bathed and dressed his wound once each day with warm water and poultices of white-oak ooze and slippery-elm bark; how they stopped the bleeding with soot from the wooden chimney; how they dosed him occasionally, when his wound seemed painful, with good whiskey that Ham got up at the house on the hill (he had managed to force an entrance somehow); and how every day they asked the Lord to heal his wound and make him well, so he would take them away from their long suffering and unhappy life. The story of the old woman was most interesting as well as very amusing. The next morning we had bread, coffee and chicken, which was relished by all, I assure you. The Colonel was fed on gruel and a piece of chicken. Aunty, who had him entirely under her control, would not allow him to eat anything else. After breakfast was over I asked Aunty how she came to know Col. Anderson, and she in her way told me the story of her having been hired out once by her master to Col. Anderson's family before the Colonel was married, and she said:

“'Laud bressyou, chile, I know Massa Tom soon I put my eyes onto him. Yes, sah. I neber let on, doe. He didn't know nuffin when they frowed him out heah like a pig. No, sah. He was mos' dead, sho'. Dat's one time he mos' done gone to glory, sho'. But he all right now; he come out. An' when he do, oh, great Laud, don't I jes' want him to go for dem “Sesh.” Yes, I tell you, I do. Dar is no mistake on dat pint.'

“The day passed. The Colonel improved and conversed considerably with his wife. We left them together all we could to enjoy their reunion. He was very desirous of getting away and having the assistance of a surgeon, who, however, could do no more for him than was being done. In the afternoon late, however, there came an ambulance and the Post Surgeon. This seemed to give new life and spirit to all. The Surgeon entered the cabin, and, after pleasantly conversing about the Colonel with us, proceeded to make an examination of his wound. Aunty was determined to be present. She raised the Colonel up, and showed the Surgeon where the wound was, its condition, etc. He said it was healing rapidly, and would be well soon, but that he would be some considerable time gaining sufficient strength to do any service. He said that aunty ought to have a diploma; that she had treated him as skillfully as anyone could have done, and much better than some might have done, Aunty at once replied:

“'I tell you where you gib de “'plomas.” You jes' gib dem to de Laud. He is de one what do dis work. I tell you, He keep Massa Tom for some good. I don't know what, but he is got some good work afore he, sho' I tells you, de Laud never show dis pore old nigger what to do, des like she be a doctor, less He wanted Massa Tom to do something. He know what He wants. He know all t'ings, de Bible say so, an' dats the book you can't 'spute.'

“We all agreed with aunty, and she was happy. The next morning the ambulance was arranged in the best possible manner and the Colonel tenderly carried out and laid in, his wife and Aunt Martha having a place arranged so they could stay in the ambulance with him. We all started, old Ham tying their belongings up in a couple of blankets and lashing them on a horse loaned him by one of the escort. We were two days in making Bolinsburg, but did it without any very great inconvenience or suffering to the Colonel. When we arrived Col. Harden welcomed us most heartily, and made all necessary arrangements for the comfort of Col. Anderson, as well as the rest of us. I noticed that Col. Harden said nothing about the two colored people, and did not seem to notice them, so I called his attention to them. He looked at me rather quizzically and remarked:

“'Why, I did not observe any colored people. You did not bring any through the lines, did you?'

“I took the hint, and said:

“'O, Colonel, what did I say? I was a little absent-minded being up with Col. Anderson; and loss of sleep has bothered me.”

“So, you see, I got out of the scrape. Orders then existed against bringing colored people through the ines, as I learned afterwards. He (Col. Harden) always said that he was color-blind, and could not distinguish between the color of people. I remained several days, and Col. Anderson continued to improve. I, however, felt that I ought to go home and look after the family. So old Ham and I got ready, and bade good-by to all, after returning thanks for the kindness shown us. We took the two horses that Mary and I rode to Dolinsburg and made our way through in several days to Allentown. I preferred to go all the way on horseback, to save, perhaps, some trouble about Ham. He claimed to be freeborn and from Ohio, where I formerly lived. This went as sound, and no trouble ensued. Ham lived at our house and did chores for us and made himself generally useful. I related the whole story to the family and made all happy, especially little Mary Col. Anderson's child, who had the impression fixed on her mind that her papa had been killed, like her Uncle Harvey. We received letters from David and James, in the Eastern army; also, from Stephen, who had marched with the regiment to which he belonged to the Army of the Center, then in the western part of Kentucky, and on the way to Pittskill Landing, where the Union forces were now concentrating. Henry wrote that his regiment of cavalry had been ordered to the East to report to Gen. Kilpatterson. Having heard from all our family, except Jackson, we were again happy. We all longed for the day to come when Col. Anderson and his wife would return home, and were anxious also to see the good old colored woman who had been a mother to him during his illness. The children especially asked me every day about Aunt Martha; how she looked? if she was as black as Uncle Ham? and why Mr. George sold her children? and in any other questions that could not well be answered.”

“Uncle Daniel, I knew Col. Harden, of whom you spoke,” said Maj. Clymer. “He was a good soldier, went all through the war, and died in 1868. He was rather an old man for the service, and was never well after the war closed.”

“Yes; I heard of his death; I kept track of him up to that time; he was a good man.”

“Uncle Daniel,” said Dr. Adams, “the implicit faith of those two old colored people was an example that might well be followed by the masters now.”

“Yes; the colored people are the most faithful on the face of the earth, and deserve better treatment than they are getting in the South.”

“Why is it that they are deprived of their political rights in the Southern States?”

“My dear sir, that is easily answered. As I have heretofore repeated in the discussion of other points, the controlling element in the South is now, as it ever has been, an aristocracy of and for power. They do not intend that in any way or by any means, lawful or otherwise, the control of their States shall pass out of their hands; by this means they will control the General Government. It would be the same were these colored people white; if they were poor and not of the ruling class, they would be deprived of their rights in the same way. They believe that they were born to control, and control they will, unless we shall find men hereafter in charge of this Government with nerve enough to see that the rights of the people are protected and enforced.”

“Yes,” said Col. Bush, “another war will come some day, and it will commence at the ballot-box. People will suffer just so long and no longer. The idea that I gave my right arm away for a Government that allows its citizens to be bulldozed and murdered merely for desiring to participate in the affairs of the Republic. No, sir! I fight no more until I know what I am fighting for and also that we will sustain the principles for which we contended.”

“This is a curious people. They are nearly ready for any kind of government to-day, when only a few years ago they expended billions of money and rivers of human blood for liberty, and now care nothing for it. They made the gift of franchise to millions at a great sacrifice, and now quietly smile at its surrender. O, yes; but how can you expect anything else. Are we not apologizing every day for what we did? Do we not avoid speaking of the war in the North? Are not some of our great leaders to-day men who aided and sympathized with treason, while we teach kindness to our erring brethren and forgive all? Do we not find our flag despised nearly everywhere in the South? Do they not march under their State flags instead of the Stars and Stripes? Are not all their monuments to rebel leaders and Generals? Are not their school books full of Secession sentiments? Do they not teach the children that we conquered them with hired Hessians? While this is so in the South, and any allusion to the war in the North is regarded as stirring up bad blood, is it not submissive, cowardly and unworthy of any brave people, and will it not result finally in their dominating over us? These are the reflections that annoy me in my old and lonely days.”

Here he stopped, was silent for a moment, then said in a low tone:

“Why should I have lived to tremble now for the future of my country.”

The tears stood like crystals in his eyes, and he ceased to speak for the present.

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