Memories by Fannie A. (Mrs.) Beers

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"Say, are you all asleep?"

At once Maum Winnie's voice was heard inquiring,--

"Who dat?"

"Hey, old girl, come down here and open the gate. I've brought your
hay, but I got stalled on the way, and it's too late to put it up
to-night. I'll have to drive the wagon in and leave it. I'll unload it
in the morning."

Maum Winnie shut the window, and soon was heard shuffling along the
carriage-road, grumbling to herself.

"'Fore do Lawd, I _is_ plum wore out. I dun wuk sence sun-up, an' dere
dat ar fodder fotch here jes' es I gwine ter lie down."

This pretence of ill-humor was kept up until the wagon was well out of
sight from the street and driven up under a shed close by the
kitchen-door, when poor old Maum Winnie came up close and whispered,--

"_Is_ you brung Mars Ned shure 'nuff? Oh, _whar_ he? tell Winnie
_whar_ he!"

Just then the two ladies stole out from the house and came close to
the wagon. Both seemed calm and self-possessed, save that the hurried
breathing of Mrs. Grey showed her excitement. A light might have
betrayed them, and they dared not run any risks. No time was now to be
lost. Mr. Grey was, indeed, concealed among the hay, and needed
immediate attention, for the long ride had greatly increased the pain
and fever of his wound.

Slowly he crept out from his hiding-place, and, with the assistance of
the farmer and Winnie, managed to reach an upper room, where he sank
exhausted, yet with a contented sigh, on the comfortable bed which had
been for days awaiting him.

Under the loving care of the ladies and Maum Winnie he slowly
improved. No one had suspected his presence in the house until Nelly
discovered him, as above related.

Mr. Grey scarcely dared to hope that the little girl would be able to
keep the secret, but all was explained to her. She was made to
understand the extreme danger to all concerned in case of discovery.
The trust reposed in her made the child feel quite womanly. Every day
she became more helpful, a greater comfort to her anxious mamma,
better able to assist in nursing.

Weeks passed, bringing renewed health and strength to the soldier, who
began to feel very anxious to rejoin his command. Various plans were
discussed, but none appeared practicable. Rumors of an advance of the
Confederate forces, and of an impending battle, became every day more
like certainties. At last, one morning all were startled by the sound
of heavy guns; later, volleys of musketry could be plainly heard.
Federal troops marched at double-quick through the town, on their way
to the scene of strife. All day the fight raged. Sometimes the sound
of firing would seem nearer, then farther off; at nightfall it ceased.
When it became quite dark, Mr. Grey, bidding them all farewell,
hurriedly left the house, hoping to join some detachment of
Confederates during the night, and to participate in the battle next
day.

The next day was fought the battle of ----, which raged almost in
sight of the town. Nelly was, of course, in a state of great alarm and
excitement, but both her mamma and grandma were carefully preparing
the house for the reception of the wounded. Soon every room was
occupied, and the ladies had their hands full in attending to them. On
the second day a wounded Federal was brought to the house. While
nursing him, Mrs. Grey learned that he was a private in the regiment
commanded by Colonel ----, the officer who had so kindly assisted in
her time of need. He told her that the colonel had been terribly
wounded and carried to a hospital on the battle-field. Mrs. Grey at
once determined to find him, and, if still alive, to do him all the
good in her power. So, summoning farmer Dale, she rode with him to the
hospital. Being an officer, Colonel ---- was easily found. He had just
suffered amputation of an arm, and was weak from loss of blood, but
recognizing Mrs. Grey, smiled and seemed glad to see her. It was
impossible to move him, but from that time he lacked nothing that
could add to his comfort. Later, Nelly was allowed to visit him,
frequently bringing flowers, and in many pleasant ways cheering his
loneliness.

Meanwhile the Confederate forces had swept on into Pennsylvania, but,
alas, were forced back. When they returned to Virginia, Mrs. Grey and
Nelly went with them, for both preferred to risk all chances rather
than to remain within the Federal lines, cut off from all
communication with the husband and father who might at any time need
their services. So they became "refugees," living as did thousands of
homeless ones, as best they might. Maum Winnie having proved her skill
as a nurse, found plenty of employment. Her wages, added to the little
Mrs. Grey could earn by her needle, kept them from absolute want. At
last came the sad day of "the surrender."

Nelly was yet too young to understand the sorrow and despair of her
mother, nor could she refrain from exceeding wonder when one day Mr.
Grey appeared, looking like an old and haggard man, and without a
greeting to his wife and child, tottered to a seat, throwing his arms
upon the table, burying his face within them, while be moaned and
sobbed as only a man can. Kneeling by his side, his wife tried to
soothe and comfort him, but although he was able at last to restrain
his grief, it was many a day before he was seen to smile.

There was nothing left for the impoverished family but to return to
the old Virginia home, and try to make the best of it. They were
compelled to travel as best they could, sometimes walking many miles,
sometimes taking advantage of a passing wagon. At last one evening,
just as the sun was setting, they approached the home-place, once a
blooming paradise, now a desert waste. The cabin of Maum Winnie with a
few of the servants' houses were still standing, but deserted and
desolate. Doors, log fireplaces, etc., had been torn down for
firewood, and in many places patches of charred wood, or dead embers,
showed where camp-fires had been lighted. The little garden in front
of Maum Winnie's cabin, made and carefully tended by "de ole man," was
a wilderness of weeds among which flowers of rank growth still
struggled for a place. Where the chimneys of the "house" still stood,
and all over the half-burned trunks of once beautiful trees crept and
clung sickly-looking vines, springing from the roots which had once
nourished a luxuriant growth and were not wholly dead.

As Mr. Grey surveyed the scene, a deep groan burst from his lips; but
the wife laid her hand upon his shoulder, saying, "Courage, dear, we
will make a home even here." Maum Winnie here stepped to the front,
briskly leading the way to the little cabin, followed by Nelly, who,
child-like, entered readily into any plan that promised to be novel
and exciting. Everything of value had been carried off, but a few
chairs and a bed with a shuck mattress remained, together with a few
pots and pans. The fireplaces were also ready for use. Winnie soon had
a cheerful fire, while Nelly set out on the top of a box the remains
of the rations they had brought along, and which with some steaming
coffee of parched corn formed the evening meal.

Ten years later a plain but tasteful cottage occupied the site of the
ruined home. Fast-growing vines were doing their best to rival the
luxuriant foliage which once almost hid the old house. A well-kept
garden perfumed the air and delighted the eye. Fields ripe for the
harvest occupied the land where the negro cabins had stood, forming an
effective background to the newly-repaired and whitewashed house of
Maum Winnie, which stood, a pleasant feature of this scene of peace
and plenty, its fences intact, posies blooming as of old. On the
little porch sat the old woman, dozing over her knitting. The gallery
of the house was occupied by a family group, who were enjoying the
fresh coolness of the evening out of doors. Mrs. Grey sat upon the
upper steps arranging some flowers, which were supplied to her as she
called for them by a lovely boy, who had just brought his apron full
of them. Nelly, swinging in a hammock, was a picture of lazy
enjoyment. The attention of all was attracted by the sound of wheels,
which ceased as a carriage drove up containing a gentleman and lady,
and a young lady who sat by the driver (an old negro who was often
employed as a driver and guide by strangers). Nelly ran down to the
gate, followed by her mother. The gentleman had by this time
descended. One glance at the empty sleeve was enough, even if the
kindly face had not been so little changed. It was Colonel ----, who,
having business in Richmond, had "stopped off" at the wayside station
for a few hours, that he might endeavor to find the Greys, and
introduce to his wife and daughter the kind friends who had so
faithfully nursed him when wounded, and also show them the scene of
incidents often related to them.

The ladies having been introduced, the strangers accepted a cordial
invitation to alight. While they were chatting pleasantly upon the
vine-shaded gallery, Mr. Grey rode into the yard upon a strong-looking
white mule. The greeting of the soldiers was courteous and pleasant.
The contrast between them was striking indeed.

The one clad elegantly and fashionably, his shirt-front blazing with
diamond studs, his hair and beard luxuriant and carefully kept. The
pleasant eyes untroubled and smiling. The other in the plain garb of
one who must earn his bread, coarse but scrupulously neat. The face
bronzed from exposure, the hair damp with the sweat of toil, and yet,
when the brown, hardened hand of the Virginia gentleman met the white
clasp of the rich man of the North, Mr. Grey lost nothing by
comparison. Colonel ---- having laughingly inquired after Maum Winnie,
the whole party repaired to her cabin. The old woman received her
guests with stately politeness, holding her turbaned head high, as she
_majestically_ stalked before them to show, at their request, her
chickens, ducks, and pigs. She omitted nothing that was due to her
visitors, but there was a strained politeness, and a rolling of her
eyes toward them, which made Mrs. Grey uneasy and quite prepared her
for what followed. While Colonel ---- was in the act of saying
something which he thought would quite win the old creature's heart,
she looked up at him over her glasses, saying,--

"Yer ain't seen nuffin er dat ar fedder-bed yet, is yer? Kase ole Miss
she dun giv' me dat ar bed too long to talk about, an' ebery one ob
dem fedders was ris rite on dis yere place. 'Fore de Lawd, if ole Miss
know I dun loss dat ar bed she gwine ter rise rite outen de grabe."

Colonel ----, remembering the scene of the disaster to Winnie's
feather-bed, felt inclined to laugh heartily, but wishing to mollify
the old creature preserved his gravity while he offered her quite a
handsome sum "to buy some more feathers." A look from Mr. Grey put a
stop to the old woman's talk. Soon the visitors took their leave,
having given and received most pleasant impressions. Their visit
recalled so vividly their time of trial and adventure that the Greys
sat talking far into night.

The next morning Mr. Grey walked over to the cabin to administer a
rebuke to Maum Winnie. As he drew near the gate the quavering voice of
the old woman was heard singing jerkily, and with a pause between
every few words,--

"Al_do_ yer _sees_ me _gwine_ 'long _so_,
I has my troubles _heah_ below."

At last, discovering Mr. Grey, she rose and dropped a courtesy.

"Mornin', Mars Ned."

"Well, Winnie, you forgot your Virginia raising yesterday. What is all
this about your feather-bed?"

"Well, Mars Ned, dey dun stole it."

"Who stole it?"

"_Dah_, honey, de Lawd only knows, an' he ain't gwine ter tell. I dun
loss it anyhow, an' my pore ole bones mity sore sleepin' on dem
shucks."

Mr. Grey, finding that the old creature's grievance was very real to
her, refrained from scolding, and, passing out through the little
flower-garden, proceeded to the stable to feed the stock, a piece of
work which before the war had employed many hands, but which now was
performed by himself, assisted only by one negro man.

Upon the summer air rang the sweet voice of Nelly as she sang at her
work. In the scented garden Mrs. Grey with her little boy weeded and
trimmed and twined the lovely flowers, feeling really a greater
delight in the fruit of their labor than if they had no real
acquaintance with the flowers, but only received them from the hands
of a gardener.

Dear reader, we must now say farewell to our Nelly. Let us hope that
the clouds which darkened her childhood and early youth have passed
never to return, and that although "into each life some rain must
fall," her rainy days may be few and far between.

CHAPTER II.

BRAVE BOYS.

I believe I may safely say that no cause ever fought for, no army ever
raised, numbered among its adherents and soldiers so many mere boys as
rallied around "The Bonnie Blue Flag," bringing to its defence the
ardor of youth, added to unquestioning loyalty and Spartan bravery.
Aye, more wonderful, more worthy of admiration than the bravery of the
Spartan youth, because our Southern boys had, up to the beginning of
the war, known nothing of hardship or danger. Yet they met with
splendid courage all that fell to their lot as soldiers, fighting with
an impetuosity and determination which equalled that of the oldest
veterans. My book contains already many instances of lofty courage and
patient endurance as shown by boys. I will add one or two incidents
worthy of record.

In one of the companies of the Third Lee Battalion was a bright Irish
boy named Flannagan, who had been brought to Virginia by one of the
officers as his attendant. During the seven days' fight around
Richmond this child, having procured a small shot-gun, fought with the
best of them, coming out safe and sound. I learned this little history
from a soldier who knew the boy. Flannagan now lives in Texas.

It is well known that the boys of the Virginia University did
excellent service under "Stonewall" Jackson. Here is a story of some
other school-boys, related to me by their teacher, himself a brave
soldier who lost an arm in one of the battles around Richmond.

When Wilson's raiders reached Charlotte County, Virginia, preparations
were made by the Home Guards, aided by a few veterans who happened to
be home on furlough, to check their further progress. Breastworks were
thrown up on the south side of Stanton River, the railroad bridge was
blockaded, and a gun placed in position to defend the passage. Colonel
Coleman, who was at home on furlough, gave it as his opinion that
these precautions must be supplemented and supported by rifle-pits on
the north side, or no successful defence could be made. The pits were
hastily dug, but, when volunteers were called for, the extreme danger
prevented a hearty response. None appeared except a few old soldiers
and six or seven school-boys, whose ages ranged from fourteen to
sixteen. The Yankees advanced in line, in an open plain, about two
thousand strong. A rapid fire was opened from the rifle-pits and from
the gun on the railroad bridge.

After a few minutes the enemy retired, reformed, and came on again,
but were again routed as before. Although the boys held a place where
many a veteran would have quailed, they stood their ground nobly, and
did a soldier's duty.

After the fight was over, two of them had a quarrel regarding a
Federal officer whom both shot at and both claimed to have killed.

These were Virginia boys, the sons of veterans, and attending a local
school.

The raid came to grief soon after, being routed by Fitz-Hugh Lee.

Thomas Hilton, of Uniontown, Alabama, volunteered in the "Witherspoon
Guards," Twenty-first Alabama Regiment, at the tender age of fourteen.
He was too small to carry a musket, and was detailed as a drummer boy.
At the battle of Shiloh he threw away his drum and so importuned his
captain for a gun that it was given him.

Shortly after, while in the thick of the fight, he was shot through
the face, the ball entering one side and passing out at the other.

Rev. N.I. Witherspoon (chaplain of the regiment) found him lying upon
the ground, bleeding to death as he then supposed, and knelt beside
him to pray. To his surprise the boy looked up, the fire in his eyes
unquenched, and gasped out while the blood gushed afresh at every
word,--

"Yes--chaplain--I'm--badly hurt--but--I'm--not--_whipped_."

Thomas Hilton still lives in Uniontown, Alabama, respected by all who
know him. His fellow-citizens regard the ugly scar which still appears
upon his face with pride and reverence.

The battle of Mansfield, Louisiana, was one of the most
hotly-contested and bloody of the war, the loss in men and officers
being terrific. The tide of battle rolled on, through lofty pine
forests, amid tangled undergrowth, and over open fields, where the
soldiers were exposed a to storm of shot and shell, and where, on that
beautiful Sunday morning, hundreds of the dead and dying strewed the
ground. While the battle was at its height it became necessary, in
order to secure concerted action, to send dispatches to a certain
point. The only way lay across a ploughed field, exposed to a terrific
fire from the enemy, whose target the messenger would become: and it
seemed as if certain death must be the fate of any one who should
attempt to run the gauntlet. And yet the necessity was met. _A boy of
eighteen years_ stepped forth from the ranks of Company G, Crescent
Regiment, Louisiana Volunteers, and offered to perform this dangerous
service.

Dashing on through a perfect hail of shot and shell, stumbling and
falling over the furrowed ground, struggling up and on again, he
passed unharmed, successfully executing his mission. His escape was so
miraculous that one can only account for it by the belief that God
gave his angels charge concerning him.

The name of this valiant boy--James V. Nolan--should live in history.
He still lives, and has been for years secretary of the Cotton
Exchange at Shreveport, Louisiana.

CHAPTER III.

THE YOUNG COLOR-BEARER.

The story of "The Little Apron" was written up by Major McDonald, of
Louisville, to be read at a meeting of veterans of Association Army of
Northern Virginia, Kentucky Division. It is true in every
particular,--indeed, a matter of history.

I have given it a place here because I feel sure that many of my young
readers will remember having seen the apron in question, and will like
to read its full history. It was very kindly loaned to me, during the
New Orleans Exposition, by Major McDonald, and was on exhibition at my
tent ("The Soldiers' Best"), among many other Confederate relics,
where it never ceased to be an object of profound interest and
veneration. Hundreds of people handled it. Veterans gazed upon it with
moistened eyes. Women bedewed it with tears, and often pressed kisses
upon it. Children touched it reverently, listening with profound
interest while its story was told. The little apron was of plain white
cotton, bordered and belted with "turkey red,"--an apron of "red,
white, and red," purposely made of these blended colors in order to
express sympathy with the Confederates. It yet bears several
blood-stains. The button-hole at the back of the belt is torn out, for
the eager little patriot did not wait to unbutton it. There is another
hole, just under the belt in front, made when the wounded boy tore it
from the staff to which he had nailed it to conceal it in his bosom.
The story as told by Major McDonald is as follows:

In the spring of 1863, while the Army of Northern Virginia was
encamped on the Rapidan River, preparing for that memorable campaign
which included the battle of Gettysburg, there came to it, from
Hampshire County, Virginia, a beardless boy, scarcely eighteen years
of age, the eldest son of a widowed mother. His home was within the
enemy's lines, and he had walked more than one hundred miles to offer
his services to assist in repelling a foe which was then preying upon
the fairest portions of his native State. He made application to join
Company D, Eleventh Virginia Cavalry, which was made up principally
from his county, and, therefore, contained many of his acquaintances,
and seemed much surprised when told that the Confederate government
did not furnish its cavalry with horses and equipments. Some members
of the company present, who noticed his earnestness and the
disappointment caused by this announcement from the officer, said,--

"Enroll him, captain; we will see that he has a horse and equipments
the next fight we get into."

On faith of this promise he was enrolled,--James M. Watkins, Company
D, Eleventh Virginia Cavalry, Jones's Brigade. Shortly afterward the
campaign opened with the fight at Brandy Station, in which twenty
thousand cavalry were engaged from daylight to sundown. Before the
battle was over Watkins, mounted and fully equipped, took his place
with his company. It was not long after this engagement that General
Lee advanced the whole army, and crossed into Maryland, Watkins's
command covering the rear. During the battle of Gettysburg, on the 3d
and 4th of July, we were engaged several times with the enemy's
cavalry on our right, upon which occasions he was always found in the
front, and while on the march was ever bright and cheerful.

On the evening of the 4th, General Lee, in preparation for his
retreat, began to send his wagons to the rear in the direction of
Williamsport, when it was found that the enemy's cavalry had gone
around our left and taken possession of a pass in South Mountain,
through which lay our line of march. To dislodge them required a
stubborn fight, lasting late into the night, in which General Jones's
brigade was engaged, and he himself, becoming separated from his men
in the darkness, was supposed to have been captured or killed.

Finally the Federals were repulsed, and the wagon-train proceeded on
its way to Williamsport. In the morning Watkins's command was ordered
to march on the left flank of the train to prevent a renewal of the
attack upon it, and on approaching Hagerstown those in the rear of the
column heard loud and repeated cheering from the men in front. After
having been in an enemy's country fighting night and day, in rain and
mud, those cheers came to those who heard them in the distance as the
first rays of sunshine after a storm. Many were the conjectures as to
their cause: some said it was fresh troops from the other side of the
Potomac; others that it was the ammunition-wagons, for the supply was
known to be short; while others surmised that it was General Jones
reappearing after his supposed death or capture. Whatever the cause
was, its effect was wonderful upon the morale of those men, and cheers
went up all along the line from those who did not know the cause in
answer to those who did. When the command had reached a stone mill,
about three miles southeast of Hagerstown, they found the cause only a
little girl about fourteen years of age, perhaps the miller's
daughter, standing in the door wearing an apron in which the colors
were so blended as to represent the Confederate flag. A trivial thing
it may seem to those who were not there, but to those jaded, war-worn
men it was the first expression of sympathy for them and their cause
that had been openly given them since they had crossed the Potomac,
and their cheers went up in recognition of the courage of the little
girl and her parents, who thus dared to give their sympathy to a
retreating army, almost in sight of a revengeful foe. When Company D
was passing the house the captain rode up and thanked the little girl
for having done so much to revive the spirits of the troops, and asked
her if she would give him a piece of the apron as a souvenir of the
incident. "Yes, certainly," she replied, "you may have it all," and in
her enthusiasm she tore it off, not waiting to unbutton it, and handed
it to the officer, who said it should be the flag of his company as
long as it was upon Maryland soil.

"Let me be the color-bearer, captain," said young Watkins, who was by
his side; "I promise to protect it with my life." Fastening it to a
staff he resumed his place at the head of the company, which was in
the front squadron of the regiment.

Later in the evening, in obedience to an order brought by a courier,
the Eleventh Cavalry moved at a gallop in the direction of
Williamsport, whence the roll of musketry and report of cannon had
been heard for some time, and, rejoining the brigade, was engaged in a
desperate struggle to prevent the Federal cavalry from destroying the
wagons of the whole army, which, the river being unfordable, were
halted and parked at this point, their principal defence against the
whole cavalry force of the enemy being the teamsters and stragglers
that General Imboden had organized. The Eleventh Cavalry charged the
battery in front of them, this gallant boy with his apron flag riding
side by side with those who led the charge. The battery was taken and
retaken, and then taken again, before the Federals withdrew from the
field, followed in the direction of Boonsboro', until darkness covered
their retreat. In those desperate surges many went down on both sides,
and it was not until after it was over that men thought of their
comrades and inquiries were made of the missing. The captain of
Company D, looking over the field for the killed and wounded, found
young Watkins lying on the ground, his head supported by the surgeon.
In reply to his question, "was he badly hurt?" he answered, "Not much,
captain, but _I've got the flag!_" and, putting his hand in his bosom,
he drew out the little apron and gave it to the officer. When asked
how it came there, he said that when he was wounded and fell from his
horse the Federals were all around him, and to prevent them from
capturing it he had torn it from the staff and hid it in his bosom.

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