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XXXVIII The Invalid's Wife 1 I DON'T know who you are or where you're from, but I'm goin' to tell you the truth. I'm livin' hyar at the foot of Lookout Mountain where I've always lived. The Indians was still hyar when my father come. Him and another man bought all this land up for a dollar an acre. You see land wan't worth nothin' in them days. At the
time of the
war there were just a few scattered houses hyar where now it is all
built up
thick like a city. The house I lived in had three rooms, and there was
a
kitchen outside. I owned some slaves, and they had little plank houses
to
themselves. We called the black people niggers and do yet, but Northern
people
associates with 'em as if they liked 'em better than white. My husband
had been
sick for a long time when the Yankees come hyar. He'd been down the
last year
so he couldn’t do nothin', and he was just barely able to walk across
the room.
He had the kidney disease and the stomach disease. We'd spent a great
deal of
money goin' to doctors and tryin' to cure his bad health, but they
didn’t help
him none. I put no confidence in doctors any more. All they want is
money. If
you are sick, just doctor yourself. The first
big battle
near hyar was Chickamauga, and it just like to have killed everything.
The
Yankees had gone out there from Chattanooga, and they retreated to the
town
when they were beaten. If the Confederates had kept up the pursuit four
minutes
longer they'd have drove the Yankees into the river. I wish they had
and
drowned every one of 'em. The
Confederates
had the top of Lookout Mountain and the sides way down to the base of
it where
I lived. One morning the Yankees made a bridge across Lookout Creek in
a valley
north of the mountain and got over hyar while the Rebels was all asleep
on post
up on the side of the mountain. The fighting begun without any of us
having any
warning. I know my sister was a-milking, and she throwed the pails down
and run
in the house, I had
three
children. My oldest was a boy maybe ten years old, and there was a
little girl,
and there was a baby that had been born just four days. Old Mrs.
Kilgore come
to my house to help me git out. The shot was falling like hail, and we
had to
go to git shet of it. Mrs. Kilgore wrapped the baby up in a shawl and
gave her
to the boy to carry. He was skeered to death. He didn’t have no sense,
and as
soon as he got out of the house he run. None of us knew where he went,
and we
didn’t find him till evening. We never expected to see the baby any
more nor
him either. He run over a mile to one of our neighbors, and when he got
there
they found he was carryin' the baby head down with her feet up in his
arms. I
reckon God had determined that child should live. I don't know what
else saved
her. Well, all
of us at
our house had to run out of the battle, and I like to have lost my life
by it.
My husband was layin' at the point of death, but he wasn’t so skeered
as I was.
He couldn’t walk to do no good, and Mrs. Kilgore put him on a horse.
She helped
me git on my own riding mar', which was very gentle and walked slow. We
went to
the house of a family named Richardson and got out of the fightin' for
a while.
But pretty soon the soldiers was at it right around us again. The
Yankees had
run the Rebels back and was a-hurryin' 'em along the mountain side. Mrs.
Kilgore had me
lie down on a feather bed, and she put two more feather beds on top of
me to
keep the bullets from shootin' me. That was all she had to stop the
flyin'
bullets, It was right funny, and I laughed about it, and I was skeered
to
death, too, for I thought I'd be shot every minute. Some of the bullets
did
come through the feather beds, so Mrs. Kilgore said. Well, she
fixed me
up, and then she tied a tablecloth to a stick like a flag and ran out
and held
it up. That was for peace. Some officers come galloping up to ask what
was the
matter. She told 'em there was a sick woman in the house, and they
never shot
toward it any more. They didn’t bother nothing around the place after
that, and
the old woman had a chance to make me some strong coffee. I never shall
forgit
that day while I live. About the
time my
coffee was ready the Rebel doctors took possession of the Richardson
barn for a
hospital and went to cuttin' off men's arms and legs. I was glad they
was on
the place, for they was all good and kind to me. The
Richardsons had
moved away, and a woman whose husband was a Southern soldier was
stayin' in the
house. He had
done
deserted, and he was there, too. The Rebels was lookin' for him every
minute,
and he knew if he was caught he'd be hung. So he and his wife set up
all that
night gittin' ready to go away. They went to the Yankees and left
everything
they had. I don't blame 'em, If I'd been goin' to git killed I'd have
gone,
too. Before
they started
they cooked two or three pots full of chickens, and I said, "Lord 'a'
mercy! Mrs. Shaw, where'd you git all them chickens?" "They
belonged
to the Richardsons," she said, "but the Richardsons are gone and we
might as well have the chickens as any one else." She
brought me a
whole one, but I didn’t eat it. That chicken was so tough I couldn’t
bite it.
Mrs. Shaw dished out a whole chicken for every one of us and told us to
give
the balance to the doctors. The
soldiers did
all the damage they could at my house. Why, they just tuck everything
that was
of any use to 'em and then burnt up the house. They were the worst
people I
ever heard tell of. The Bible was in the house, and we'd written down
in it the
dates when our children were born. of course the Bible was destroyed,
and I
couldn’t tell afterward just how old the children were. We had two
cats. I
don't know whether the soldiers eat 'em or what. They were on the place
when we
left that morning and never was seen or heard tell of afterward, But I
thank
God I had life, let alone anything else. After a
few days
the Rebel doctors went away, and then some Union doctors come and
camped in the
yard. My husband
had
pains in his heart very often, and we used to make a poultice to
relieve him.
We'd take hot ashes and embers, pour on water, and spread 'em on a
cloth while
they was hot and smokin', and then we'd lay 'em on his heart. One day
when the
baby was 'bout a month old my husband had a bad spell. He frothed at
the mouth,
and you could hear him breathing way out to the road, I sent a nigger
to a tent
in the yard for a doctor, and the doctor gave my husband half a glass
of
whiskey with a little black stuff like opium in it. Very soon he was
dead. That
doctor killed him. The doctors would just as soon kill you as look at
you in
them days. 1f you was dead they wouldn’t be bothered with you any more.
My husband
hadn’t
been buried more'n a week when two soldiers come in one morning and
wanted me
to give 'em something to eat. So I put some breakfast on the table for
'em, and
when they finished eating they tuck a jar of sweet milk that was
settin' by the
fire and drank it up. They saw my husband's coat hangin' up there. It
was a
fine coat, plush all over, and they tuck that and all his other
clothes. They
stole my extra clothes, too, so my people had to give me shiftin'
clothes. They
tuck ten or twelve quilts. I guess they did! and I reckon they sold
'em, They
carried off all those things and never said, "Thank you," nor nothin'.
Often when
the
soldiers come to the house 1'd pretend I was deef and dumb. I played
off that
way in order to git shet of 'em. It was a scarey time. They had
the finest
kind of grub, but they was always beggin' and stealin' things to eat.
They went
across the creek and stole a poor woman's chickens — twenty or thirty —
all she
had. There wan't a chicken to be seen no place. I had two pigs up in a
pen to
fatten, and they taken them. I was
raisin' two
pet lambs, Peter and Billy. They'd run around and feed and play in the
yard. I
owned a nigger named Jim, and I was so fond of the lambs that I even
had that
nigger take a coarse comb and comb 'em, They was 'bout half grown and
was the
prettiest things I ever saw in the world. Nigger Jim kept 'em with him
at night
in his little one-room house. By and by there come a morning when I
didn’t see
only one of 'em, and I said to Jim, "Where's that other one?" "Hit's
gone,
mist'ess," he said, "and I had both of 'em in my house last
night." But I
always
thought Jim left 'em out in the yard, I didn’t believe a word he said.
Well, I
put a shawl over my head and went out to camp. I'd always go there to
hunt up
anything that was missing. An officer went around with me, and we found
the
lamb's head. The soldiers didn’t deny they had killed it, and within a
week
they got the other lamb. Nothin'
was ever
paid me for what was taken or destroyed, because I was one of these
stout-hearted, and I got so mad I wouldn’t ask for any pay. Oh! I have
seen
more trouble on account of that war than 'bout anything else in all my
life. Some of
the army
meal and other provisions was stored in our barn, and one of my cows
eat a sack
of the flour, The doctors gave her calomel and everything, but she
swelled up
and died. I had a
calf that I
tried my best to save. "Now, Jim," I said, "you tie this calf to
the door inside of your house every night, and don't let 'em kill it." But one
morning
there was the rope hangin' from the door, and no calf. "I never heard a
sound," Jim said. That nigger was a sleepy-headed thing anyway. He
cooked
for me, and at night he'd cook for the Yankees to make some money. We
made a
search for the calf, and, I 'clar'! we found where the thieves had
killed it
not one hundred and fifty yards from Jim's house. In a day or two they
tuck the
calf's mother. Those
Yankees were
the cruelest men I ever heard of, and I know we got mighty tired of
'em. But I
expect our folks was just as bad when they was in a strange place. One night,
when Jim
went to water my mar' and horse and mule, a soldier tuck 'em all. Oh! I
couldn’t tell you 'bout that war as bad as it was. It just broke me up.
They
didn’t leave me anything but myself and my children. Things got
so bad I
was 'fraid they'd kill the children and eat 'em, and I had to go to
headquarters and git a guard. He was from Philadelphy. It was the rules
that he
should always wear his uniform while on duty, but he'd come in the
house as
often as he could and make himself comfortable by takin' off his belt
and
sword. He didn’t want word of that to git to the general, and when he
heard any
one comin' he'd put his belt on quick as lightning. Then out he'd run
and meet
whoever was comin'. "Halt!" he'd say, and you bet they helt. They
stopped right there. I was
standin' at
the gate one day when a soldier asked me if I was a Rebel or a Yankee. That was a
pretty
question to ask a lady. "It's none of your business what I am," I
said, "but you might have enough sense to know I'm not a Yankee." He just
laughed and
went right along. Another
time a
soldier come to the house cryin'. He'd got word that one of his sisters
was
about to die, and he wanted to go to see her. His mother had sent him a
trunk
plumb full of provisions that he couldn’t eat himself and couldn’t
take. He
asked me a dollar for the trunk and all there was in it, and I gave him
the
dollar to help the poor thing to go home. I was
tickled one
day. There was a big green punkin in the garden, and some soldiers
stood
lookin' at it from outside of the fence for half an hour to the best of
my
knowledge and belief. They was waitin' for a chance to steal it, but I
was in
my room watchin' 'em. Sometimes they'd reach over the fence and pick it
up, and
then they'd see I was lookin' and they'd drap it. "I wonder
what
they want, standin' over that punkin so long," I said to myself, and
finally I walked out and spoke to 'em. "Lady, can
you
spare this watermelon?" they said. "I can
spare
it," I answered, "but that's not a watermelon. It's a punkin." They
didn’t believe
me, and they said, "Will you give it to us?" "Yes,
indeed!" I said, "take it along." I didn’t
care
anything about the punkin. They'd stole my cows, and I hadn’t nothin'
to feed
it to. Everything had been taken so clean that I had to draw rashions
till the
country got settled down. I tell you we-all see the cruel time. If
you'd been
hyar you'd have seen it, too. _______________ 1 She lived in a shabby,
little,
unpainted house, the interior of which, in its grimy, unkempt disorder
was
appalling. We sat in a combined living-room and bedroom. She was a
sallow, grim
old woman, and her gray hair, which she had evidently started to comb,
hung
about her shoulders. A feeble coal fire burned in the grate. The woman
sat
close to it, for the day was chilly, and sometimes poked it into
brighter
burning. |