Memories | Page 3

to
the room, where I calmly awaited them. I reiterated the assertion made
to the doctor, so calmly, and with such apparent truth, that they were
staggered. But they had come to perform a duty, and they meant to
succeed. They convinced me that the danger to myself and to the house
of my mother was real and imminent, but I only repeated my assertions,
though my heart throbbed painfully as I saw the anxiety and trouble in
mother's face. Suddenly I remembered that I had in my possession a
paper which, just before all mail communication had ceased between
the North and South, had been sent to me for the purpose of protection.
It was simply a certificate of my husband's membership and good
standing in a Masonic lodge, and had a seal affixed. As I called for the
portfolio, all eyes brightened with expectation of seeing at last the
"rebel flag." Drawing forth from its envelope the fateful document, I
said, "I was told to use this only in dire extremity; it seems to me that
such a time is at hand. If there be any virtue in Masonry, let it now
protect me and the roof which is at present my only shelter!"
Thus speaking, I handed the paper to one whom I knew to be a
prominent Mason. The certificate was duly examined and, after a short
conference, returned. "We will do our best," said the spokesman of the
party, and all withdrew. The day passed without further trouble, and as
I sank to sleep that night there came to me a feeling of safety and
protection, which was indeed comforting.

Weeks passed, during which I slowly but surely gathered the strength
and health necessary to carry out the resolution lately formed, to join
my husband, and, if might be, to labor for the cause so loved. The
unceasing ministrations of my mother strengthened alike soul and body,
but as I read in that dear face a love and devotion which could never
fail, my heart felt many a bitter pang at the thought of the parting that
must be.
One evening, having found the courage necessary to tell mother of my
plans and hopes, to my surprise the noble woman heard me calmly. "I
had expected this," she said. "It is right--you must, go; but, oh! not
now--not soon," and in uncontrollable agitation she left the room. Two
days later the subject was resumed. Ways and means were discussed.
The mother's face grew paler as that of her child brightened and glowed
with returning health and hope. She pleaded to keep my little boy, but
fearing lest his young heart might receive, among the enemies of
Southern liberty, impressions which could not be effaced, I decided that
he must not be left.
Upon the eve of the battle of Manassas we started on our hazardous
journey. The utmost secrecy had been observed. No baggage could be
allowed. My thoughtful mother converted quite a large sum into gold,
which, stitched into a broad belt, was sewed around my waist. One
bright morning mother and I, with my boy, seated ourselves in the
carriage as if for our usual drive. There was no leave-taking, no
appearance of anything unusual. Once on the road, we were rapidly
driven to a railroad depot in a distant town; there I took the train, while
my poor mother returned homeward alone.
Arrived in Baltimore, we found ourselves among those whose hearts
were filled with ardent love of "the Cause," and bitter hatred for the
soldiers who had, in spite of their heroic resistance, so lately passed
through the streets of the city on their way to subjugate the South. "The
rebel" was enthusiastically received. All were ready to assist her, but at
this juncture it seemed impossible to pass the Federal lines.
The great battle of Manassas had been decided. The wildest excitement
prevailed. Flying soldiers were everywhere. Almost every hour the
sound of fife and drum was heard, as shattered regiments and
decimated battalions marched through the streets. Although all
expression of feeling, among the citizens, was sternly repressed, the

mask of sullen indifference was known to be but a mask. Hearts
beneath were bounding with pride and joy and hope. Almost without
exception, houses were closed and devoid of all appearance of life. Yet
behind those closely-shut blinds women embraced each other with
tempestuous joy, or paced the floor in uncontrollable agitation, or knelt
in earnest prayer, mingling thanksgivings with agonized petitions for
those whose fate was yet unknown. Mothers, sisters, wives, strove,
with trembling lips, to comfort each other, bidding the voice of
patriotism be heard above the "tempest of the heart." In the midst of all
this excitement my interests were never lost sight of. Secret meetings
were held,