magnificent riding-horse, fully accoutred, was a negro
man belonging to a neighboring plantation, who had
guided the Federals to “ole ——’s
place.” Just behind, upon a sorry mule,
escorted by a mixture of negroes and Yankees riding
his own fine horses, came Colonel M——,
his head erect, his eyes blazing scornfully, glancing
from side to side, or drawing a sharp, hard breath
between his clinched teeth as he overheard some ribald
jest. His house and gin-house had been burned,
his fields laid waste; he had left his young daughters
without protection and without shelter. What the
ladies felt as they saw this sad cavalcade pass out
of sight may not be told. Morning dawned upon
a scene of desolation, sickening in the extreme,—ruin,
waste, wreck everywhere. The house emptied of
everything valuable, floors filthy with the prints
of muddy feet, the garden ruined, furniture battered
and spoiled. Outside, broken barrels, boxes,
etc., strewed the earth; lard, sugar, flour, meal
were mingled together and with the sandy soil; streams
of molasses ran down from broken casks; guns which
had belonged to the family were broken and splintered
and lay where they had been hurled; fences were broken
down. Had there been any stock left, there was
nothing to keep them out of garden or yard. Only
old Whitey was left, however, and he walked gingerly
about sniffing at the cumbered ground, looking as
surprised as he was able. The carriage and buggy
had been drawn out, the curtains and cushions cut
and smeared thoroughly with molasses and lard.
Breakfast-time arrived, but no Ruthy came up from the
quarter; no smoke curled upward from the kitchen-chimney;
a more hopeless, dismal party could not well be imagined
than the three women who walked from room to room
among the debris, neither noticing or caring
for the losses, only intensely anxious regarding the
helpless prisoner, who was surely suffering, but whom
they could not hope to relieve. As the day wore
on, some of the women from the quarters ventured near,
bringing some coarse food which had been cooked in
their own cabins; they would not, however, go inside
the house, “Mass Yankee tole us we gwine ter
get kill ef we wait on you all.” Towards
evening Mrs. —— walked down to the
“quarter.” Not a man was to be seen.
The women were evidently frightened and uncertain as
to how far the power of “Mass Yankee”
extended. Their mistress had been a kind friend,
and their habitual obedience and respect for her could
not at once be overcome, but the threats and promises
of the Federals had disturbed and unsettled them.
Aunt Sophy was an old servant who had nursed Mrs.
——’s mother. For years
she had been an invalid, kindly nursed and cared for
by her master and mistress, receiving her meals from
the family table, and having always some of the younger
servants detailed to wait on her. Passing by
her cottage now, Mrs. —— was astonished
to see it empty. “Where is Sophy? what has
happened to her?” “Oh, she dun gone to