"
The poor woman clasped her hands.
"Oh! do you believe that, child!"[1] she said; "do you believe they'll
never come back?"
[Footnote 1: Her words.]
"I hope not, at least," Stuart replied, in a low tone.
"She clasped her hands, and for the third time addressing him as
'child,' sobbed:--
"Oh! if they will only never come back!"
That scene affected me deeply. The poor woman's tears brought something
into my throat which seemed to choke me. This time the Northern
soldiers had been impartial in their marauding. They had not only
destroyed the property, and carried off the slaves of the wealthy
proprietors, the "bloated aristocrats;" they had taken the bread out of
the mouths of the widow and the fatherless--leaving them bare and
starving in that bleak December of '63.
War conducted in that manner is barbarous--is it not, reader? The cry
of that widow and her children must have gone up to Heaven.
Stuart returned to his bivouac in the pine wood near Verdiersville,
where he had slept without tents, by his camp-fire, all these freezing
nights. Then the army began to move; soon it resumed its former
position; the cavalry was sent to watch the fords of the Rapidan; and
Stuart returned to his own head-quarters near Orange Court-House, gayly
singing, as he had left them to advance and meet the enemy.
Pages:
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185