The Press., 1889-12-12
;"MAMMYs' BoYs."
AN INCIDENT OF THE WAR.

It was in the last days of the war, when Sheriden's men were riding up the valley to hit Gen. Early last blow, that q score of us were wheeled out of column to scout by-road and pick up the straggiers from the confederate fanka who were dodging about to get home. Half mile from the main column we ran upon the blackened ruins and tall chimneys of an old Virginia mansion. One could see by glancing over the grounds that people of wealth and re- finement had lived there, and in the ruins one could read another page of the book of war. Those great chimneys, standing grim, and silent, and alone, with blackened family hearth-stones for ,pedestals,- and with apex resting place for the great buzzards with flew hither and yotf, always told of the tears and heartaches of war. Peace has removed them or hidden them behind the climbing rose or ivy, but the heart of those who still live must ache as memory goes back to the dates and deeds of blood and destruction.
 A few rods below the ruins was frame barn, which had been converted into a temporary dwelling. A gray haired man and woman had taken shelter there. and close behind 1t, on the sun.kissed hill. was 8 new made grave. Less than a week ago daughter had been buried thereOa daughter who was also wife and mother. Sheridan had moved swiftly. We had come too soon. In the house, as we rode up, was the stricken husband of the dead wife, braving all dangers to return as soon as word reached him, but arriving too late. On his knee he held his chubby. yellow-haired boy of 4, and beside him stood old black "Mammy," the tears streaming down her aged cheeks as she laid hand on his shoulder and soothingly said: ae She's better off in Heaven. Mara Gauge-heap better f3 Ize dun broke my old heart over it, but 'taint no good, Youis got little Tom left, an, thank the Lawd Ize got boaf my boys to live fur I'
 !" She had sung the father to sleep in his baby days, and father and son were cher boys"-her big and little boy.
 An escort had come with the father and husband, for he was major. There were six men in the orchard on the hill. and we had come up so quietly that we were un- noticed until we were almost upon them. Then they did gallant thing to favor their chief. They were outnumbered three or four to one, but they advanced on foot and opened fire to check and hold us until the major could get out They did hold us for five minutes, killing one and wounding two men, but they had better retreated like ,cravens or surrendered, like women. We soon drove them back. kill ing half their number, and as we swept up to the house old mamma appeared in the door, threw up her hands and walled out :: '~. May the Lawd nebber furgive ye fur what ye hay dun to dis poor familyw P
 The, night had been sharp and quick. We nva hn ss,oo a.. move swiftly, and the idea was to kill or capture and report to the column as soon as possible, None of us knew that the barn was tenanted by the people driven out of the house further up the hill It was in the line of fire and Our bullets went through it. When the fight was over the major lay dead under a peach tree near the back door, killed as he epcame out to direct his men, and in the house was sight to break our hearts. ,Mammy's s.little boy',was corpse, horribly .disfgured by .carbine ball which had struck him in tn. face. Grandpa and grandma,i white haired. aged. and bent, sat mute and helpless. their hearts telling them that we were murder CTS, and old Nanny, her black face look ing as hard as marble, and her eyes blaz. ing like tigers, stood before us and point cd to our horrible work and cried
 "lf de Lawd eber dun furgives one of ye den never want to go to Heaven.r
 What could we do? What could we say? It was warAhorrible and murderous war. Those helpless people were not our enemies, but war deals it's evil blows to the armed and unarmed In our hearts we grieved and sorrowed with them. and there was not man who would not have gwen an arm to undo that bloody work.