Perrysburg journal. (Perrysburg, Wood Co., O. [Ohio]) 186?-1965, 1881-06-24

used: rusty pen, g bottle OF clogged
ink, and a bit OF paper. In another
room (this one being carefully locked
lest some one intrude), she sat down Ia
write q letter, after the following
fashion:
mis- Mary Haven send you your dead boy
but twas too late. You arc d-[For tho firsi
time Deb reelected that "dovlish Yankee" was
not all on, word, and wrote onlyl-Yankeo;
but when heard him call his mother prom.
ised him I'd help him git to her. Here 10 is.
God help you Mobbo my own boy Is up thcre
q prisoner he is Richard Fclls, from Hulk.
Corners, Virginia. I've got TO take your boy &
body nineteen miles In cart, and what III do
then don't know; but | promised him and
Rich might bo calling for me some day. Oh, J
want to see him so, dead or alivcP'
She signed her name, rubbed her
sleeve across her eyes, and prepared TO
take brief rest and refreshment. AT
four next morning Tom harnessed the
pale horse, which, like himself, had
more force than was apparent. To.
the cart again, and had much trouble
TO decide upon load not heavy, not
good enough to tempt plunderers, not
mean enough to excite suspicion. She
was off at last on her long, strange ride.
The horse was now at its best. A
weaker, perhaps better, woman would
have been frightened back. She met
rough travellers, she stood sharp ques.
tioning-just what she did, as whole,
no one ever knew. Old Tom saw her
return on horseback the following night,
her strong, hard features travel stained,
old Prince the worse for wear; the cart
had pcrished by the way. He longed
much to know her experiences, but she
told no stories, then or after. She was
rebel, yet she entered the Union
lines. Hundreds of mothers were long
ing for the bodies of their sons, and
might not even be assured they would
have burial. To send the body of a
private away to Massachusetts! Who
would listen to the proposal? But
somebody did, and at the intercession
of Deborah Fells. So it was that one
day a silvery-haired little lady in a
beautiful home under the great hills
opened rough box to lind her boy
viii, in his blood-dabbled coat, with
Deb's greasy letter on his breast.
Before many weeks the South began
to see the hopelessness of its struggle.
Deborah could not be more bitter than
she had been on any general principles
of patriotism; but her personal griefs
wore on her body and mind. The
gaunt form dropped, the sallow cheeks
became hollow. Nowadays the slave
heard her rail, not only at the Yankee
army, but the women at home. Cruel,
cruel words she uttered!
One hot day she sat on the old door
step. The horse was near by, but the
dog had died of dependency; the hens
had vanished one by one. Tom had
gone ON an errand to the nearest set
tlement, and as she sat there brooding
over her troubles he hobbled back,
bringing letter. When he made her
understand what he had, she snatched
and tore it apart in q second, reading
there:
"God bless you, Deborah Fells, as do, and
money, efforts without ceasing, to find your
son. Last week found him in Camp Doug.
las. He was alive and kindly cared for. He
talked long and lovingly of his, mother. The
prisoners are soon to be exchanged. How
much / longed to help him back to you. We
told him what brave, good deed you did, and
he was very proud OF you. But, poor
mother, my heart knows how yours must ache
nOio; your Richard can't go home to greet
you. He has gone away from earth. He was
near death when we found him. not from
wounds, but low fever. He died to-day,
with your name on his lips. 1t will not be
easy to send you Richards body, but. as you
said, if it can be done, 1t shall he done.
Doubtless you received my other letter tDeb
never hadl You must apply at the same
place now for more information"
Then followed some directions.
For the first time old Tom saw Deb
weep, and her head bowed, great sobs
shaking her whole frame; but when she
re read the letter later, certain new
peace was in her face that softened
strangely over a few words, not seen be-
fore: "When kneel on my boys
grave Ipray God to bless you, my sister;
/ love and thank you for Wills sake,
too.n
1t was the strange, the out-of-order
that was accomplished in those DAYS.
Private effort brought to pass what the
public voice declared impossible. Will
Haven's widowed mother, in her own
rare, womanly way, and by generous
outlay, did what Deborah Fells had
done in her wild, lawless fashion, and
the Southern mother saw her boy once
more. She expected him in the old
rough clothes; and, in truth, he too came
in his own colors, but with clean, dainty
touches. Kind hearts had done better
lOT ulil thdu cNoll hIo pun hiOtucI COuiu
in her desolation. What was best, over,
under, and all about the dead were
sweet Northern flowers. They filled the
coffin, their lovely faces like messenger:
of peace! Deb saw them, and her heart
was like little child s. The tears
rained down her cheeks, but not for sor
row. She had felt for months tha
her son must be dead, but how goot
that Northern woman had been! She
felt the soft lining of the coffin with her
rough finger; she smoothed the black hail
OF her boy; then she sobbed, "God
bless her! She knew what it was.''
Deb is an old woman now. Her hear
is the heart of Southerner still, bu
from that day, when she saw tn,
Northern flowers around the deat
Virginian boy, she never again made
Yankee n compound word.-AnneH
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