Memories | Page 6

and
drawn by a single ox. Unpromising as this "_turnout_" appeared, we
were informed that it was a "Godsend," so we joyfully mounted the cart,
a soldier being detailed to accompany us. My little son was made
supremely happy by being invited to sit upon the lap of the driver,
whose characteristic songs beguiled the way through the shadowy
woods. Within a few miles of camp the challenge of a sentry was heard;
half an hour later we found ourselves among the tents of the Dreux
Battalion.
My husband was "on guard," perhaps thinking sadly of his absent wife
and boy, certainly never dreaming they were so near. As the ambulance
drove into camp it was at once surrounded by soldiers, both officers
and privates. As soon as my name was known, some one who evidently
appreciated the situation rushed off in hot haste to notify and relieve the
soldier most interested. Meantime a dozen hands clasped mine in
kindly greeting. To whom they belonged I could not tell, for the dense
shade shut out the moonlight, and seen by the light of the camp-fires,
disguised as each one was in the rough garb of a soldier, my quondam
city friends wore quite unrecognizable.
I will leave to the imagination of the reader the happy meeting between
long-parted ones and the many caresses showered upon our child.
I had expected nothing better than to spend the night in the ambulance
or under a tent, and would have taken great pride in "camping out," but
the chivalrous officers in command would not hear of such a plan.
Their quarters (two rooms in a little log house) were instantly vacated,
and I had scarcely descended from the vehicle when a negro man
appeared, to bring a message. "De Major's compliments, mistis, and de
room am ready." I could not have been bidden to a luxurious apartment
with more ceremony.
The next morning the shrill sound of the fife and the drum beating the
"reveille" aroused us, and we were up with the sun.
The scene was entrancing; to me particularly so, for the white tents
gleaming among the trees reminded me that I was among Southern
soldiers. As they strode to and fro with martial air, fully armed and
equipped to answer roll-call, or bent over the camp-fires preparing
breakfast, it seemed to me that no such splendid soldiers were ever
before seen. Several invitations to breakfast were received; that of the

officers' mess, having been first, was accepted.
Major ---- came in person to escort his guests to a lovely spot near the
cabin, where, under a large shady oak, upon a table of rough boards
covered with a nice white cloth, a delicious meal was set, consisting of
broiled chickens, omelet, fragrant coffee, buttermilk, corn bread, and
batter-cakes. A likely young negro boy attended at table, industriously
flourishing a green branch to keep away the flies, and seemingly
delighted to show off his company manners.
After breakfast I sat long upon the little gallery of the log cabin
entertaining soldier visitors and enjoying the situation with all my heart.
I soon discovered, however, an air of sadness and restraint which was
unaccountable until my husband told me of the death of the gallant
Dreux, the first martyr of the war. Ah! then I knew. Struggle as they
might, their brave hearts were wrung with anguish, for their gallant
leader had succumbed to the only conqueror he ever knew. The
impassioned oratory that had never failed to fire the hearts of men was
hushed forever. The ardent patriotism ever prompting to deeds of
daring was now only a memory. The brilliant intellect and
administrative ability so early recognized, so highly valued, were lost
to the Confederacy.
I no longer wondered that manly brows were clouded, or that the eyes
of soldiers moistened, as, even amidst pleasant conversation, a sudden
remembrance of their loss overcame them. For them the memory of
that death-scene was fresh. The echo of his last brave words had not yet
died away: "_Steady, boys_, steady," as if he would have said, "Let not
my fate appall; still do your duty."
Before the sun was high the ambulance reappeared to convey our party
as far as Williamsburg, where young Little was to remain until he could
hear from his father; I and my boy were to go on to Richmond. My
husband was granted a furlough of two days that he might escort his
family as far as Williamsburg. As may be imagined, the ride was most
delightful. Although often oppressed by thoughts of the parting hour so
rapidly approaching, we were at times charmed into forgetfulness, and
keen enjoyment of the beautiful scenery and the incidents of the
journey. I now, for the first time, began to use