Then I went and got a livery hack to take the women and his baggage home.  When we reached home, we found there old Mrs. Jack McGee, mother of the madam, Mrs. Charles Dandridge, Mrs. Farrington, sisters of madam, and Fanny, a colored woman, Edward’s housekeeper and mistress—­a wife in all but name.  All of these had come to hear the news of the great battle, for all had near relatives in it.  Mrs. Jack McGee and Mrs. Dr. Charles Dandridge had each a son in the terrible conflict.

* * * * *

Mourning in master’s family.

In the afternoon, when all were seated in the library reading, and I was in the dining room, finishing up my work, I happened to look out of the window, and saw a messenger coming up the graveled walk.  I went out to meet him.  “Telegram for Mrs. McGee,” he said.  I took it to her; and, reading it without a word, she passed it to the next member of the family, and so it was passed around until all had read it except Mrs. Dandridge.  When it was handed to her, I saw, at a glance, that it contained for her the most sorrowful tidings.  As she read she became livid, and when she had finished she covered her face with her handkerchief, giving a great, heavy sob.  By this time the whole family was crying and screaming:  “Oh! our Mack is killed.”  “Mars, Mack is killed,” was echoed by the servants, in tones of heart-felt sorrow, for he was an exceptional young man.  Every one loved him—­both whites and blacks.  The affection of the slaves for him bordered on reverence, and this was true not alone of his father’s slaves, but of all those who knew him.  This telegram was from Boss, and announced that he would be home the next day with the remains.  Mrs. Farrington at once wrote to old Master Jack and to Dr. Dandridge, telling them of Mack’s death and to come at once.  After I mailed those letters nothing unusual happened during the afternoon, and the house was wrapped in silence and gloom.  On the following morning I went for the mail as usual, but there was nothing new.  At noon, the remains of the much loved young man arrived at our station, accompanied by Boss and Dr. Henry Dandridge, brother of the father of the deceased, who was a surgeon in the rebel army.  I went to the station with another servant, to assist in bringing the body to the house.  We carried it into the back parlor, and, after all had been made ready, we proceeded to wash and dress it.  He had lain on the battlefield two days before he was found, and his face was black as a piece of coal; but Dr. Henry Dandridge, with his ready tact, suggested the idea of painting it.  I was there to assist in whatever way they needed me.  After the body was all dressed, and the face painted, cheeks tinted with a rosy hue, to appear as he always did in life, the look was natural and handsome.  We were all the afternoon employed in this sad work, and it was not until late in the evening that his father and mother