Still onward we pressed, till our banners
Swept out from Atlanta’s grim walls,
And the blood of the patriot dampened
The soil where the traitor-flag falls;
But we paused not to weep for the fallen,
Who slept by each river and tree,
Yet we twined them a wreath of the laurel,
As Sherman marched down to the sea! 
        Then sang we a song, etc.

V

Oh, proud was our army that morning,
That stood where the pine darkly towers,
When Sherman said, “Boys, you are weary,
But to-day fair Savannah is ours!”
Then sang we the song of our chieftain,
That echoed over river and lea,
And the stars in our banner shone brighter
When Sherman camped down by the sea!

Toward evening of February 17th, the mayor, Dr. Goodwin, came to my quarters at Duncan’s house, and remarked that there was a lady in Columbia who professed to be a special friend of mine.  On his giving her name, I could not recall it, but inquired as to her maiden or family name.  He answered Poyas.  It so happened that, when I was a lieutenant at Fort Moultrie, in 1842-’46, I used very often to visit a family of that name on the east branch of Cooper River, about forty miles from Fort Moultrie, and to hunt with the son, Mr. James Poyas, an elegant young fellow and a fine sportsman.  His father, mother, and several sisters, composed the family, and were extremely hospitable.  One of the ladies was very fond of painting in water-colors, which was one of my weaknesses, and on one occasion I had presented her with a volume treating of water-colors.  Of course, I was glad to renew the acquaintance, and proposed to Dr. Goodwin that we should walk to her house and visit this lady, which we did.  The house stood beyond the Charlotte depot, in a large lot, was of frame, with a high porch, which was reached by a set of steps outside.  Entering this yard, I noticed ducks and chickens, and a general air of peace and comfort that was really pleasant to behold at that time of universal desolation; the lady in question met us at the head of the steps and invited us into a parlor which was perfectly neat and well furnished.  After inquiring about her father, mother, sisters, and especially her brother James, my special friend, I could not help saying that I was pleased to notice that our men had not handled her house and premises as roughly as was their wont.  “I owe it to you, general,” she answered.  “Not at all.  I did not know you were here till a few minutes ago.”  She reiterated that she was indebted to me for the perfect safety of her house and property, and added, “You remember, when you were at our house on Cooper River in 1845, you gave me a book;” and she handed me the book in question, on the fly leaf of which was written:  “To Miss Poyas, with the compliments of W. T. Sherman, First-lieutenant Third Artillery.”  She then explained that, as our army approached Columbia,