Chapter XXV

A FRIGHT—GEORGE MY PROTECTOR—A POLITE SOLDIER GETS THE TENT FLY.

In the afternoon, M—— went into the city, with some of the officers, to make arrangements for me. I was much amused, though I did not let them see it, as they set off on their poor mulberry-fed horses. M—— had been presented by some one, after the loss of his horse, with a little, lame, subdued-looking animal, to whom food of any kind seemed a rarity; and the poor horse ambled along as if he considered his weight a great affliction. Our whole little household had been drawn out to witness the departure of the brilliant (?) cavalcade.

Afterward, as I sat with a book at the entrance, I heard steps, and, looking up, I saw a large, burly negro, with a most disagreeable face, dressed in Federal uniform, and armed, coming up the little path that led to the cave. As he advanced toward me, I sprang to my feet; but George, who was luckily near, crossed over from the “sassafras bed,” carving knife in hand, with which he was digging some of the root. Standing between us, he said: “Where are you gwin’, old man?” “None your business,” he returned, pausing a moment. I was just on the point of calling for some of the gentlemen at headquarters, when he turned and went round the cave on the hill. “I’ll make dis knife show you what’s your business,” growled George. Poor George! he had been my faithful defender throughout all my vicissitudes in Vicksburg.

Soon after, George came to me in a great state of excitement, and said: “Oh! Miss Mary, a Yankee soldier was just going with our tent fly from the top of the cave, and I made him stop and leave it.” A Federal soldier came down the side of the hill, stopped, and took my little daughter’s hand and said some pleasant words to her; turned to me, touching his hat, with a smile, and said, “Good morning.” I bowed in return, while a lucky thought came to me: Here was a kind-hearted, polite soldier; why not let him take the tent fly, in the place of some undeserving man? So I said: “Soldier, would you like a tent fly?” He answered: “Oh! yes, madam; I would like one very much.” So I sent George to get it for him. He expressed himself very grateful—disliked to take it, fearful of robbing us; but I assured him he was welcome; so he again bade me good morning, and carried off his acquisition.

The Confederate troops were being marched into Vicksburg to take the parole that the terms of the treaty of surrender demanded. In a few days they would leave the city they had held so long.

On Friday they began their march toward the South; and on Saturday poor George came to me, and said he had put on a pair of blue pants, and, thinking they would take him for a Federal soldier, had tried to slip through after M——, but he was turned back; so he came, begging me to try and get him a pass: the effort was made; and to this day I do not know whether he ever reached M—— or not.

Saturday evening, Vicksburg, with her terraced hills—with her pleasant homes and sad memories, passed from my view in the gathering twilight—passed, but the river flowed on the same, and the stars shone out with the same calm light! But the many eyes—O Vicksburg!—that have gazed on thy terraced hills—on thy green and sunny gardens—on the flow of the river—the calm of the stars—those eyes! how many thou hast closed on the world forever!