The National tribune. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1877-1917, 1902-05-01

hlnu me my only luggage, u Necessity loL
the success of my work. Then, added to
my fears of hunger and consequent ex
haustion, continued to rise in my mind the
horrors of the Rapidan. How could | sur
vive weakened by "a hours fast, Il repe-
titiOn of its passage?
Day was fully here. / looked around
mcknight but unbroken woods. In, no
direction could | see 80 yards. Large
trees and small saplinGs, pines and oaks
and cedars intermiugled, the cedars espe-
cially presenting their stiff low branches
i'll every direction, and shutting OF all
vision, and making progress very difficult.
listencd-nOt sound caused by hui
man being or by his accessories. In this
region no woodSmanS AK rose and fell;
here no farmers voice called his swine for
their early corn; no lowing of cattle, or
Growing of cocks. or barking of dogs, or
shout of plOTmcn greeted my ears. In
stead. quail We're piping, and squirrels
chattcring. Il few robins pccking ut the
cedar berries.
/ must go on. diverGcd from straight
south course seeking the Germanna Rond;
il could not be far away. l crossed a
small brook babblIng over stones; on the
next hill | paused and listened again, for
was sure that the road must run IN the
hollow before me. There was no sound,
and | advanced again. and soon saw
through the trees Il wide and longer space
Il -
The sun had risen. | crept up nearly
to the road; for long distance 1t ran
straight; | could see on it both ways. -Four
hundred yards to my rear there We're
hOrsemen; their backs were toward me.
At the south the road was clear. l sup
posed that | was now Il mile and q half
from the ford and therefore, almost two
miles from Flat Run. | wanted food and
rest and warmth; / must keep g0ing-that
would at least bring warmth ! went on
through the woods, keeping within sight
of the opening which always told me
where to find the road. At the edge of
brook | knelt and drank my fill; at once
became ravenously hungry and full OF
despair | made for the road. | saw a
white object lying on it; | must know what
it was Screened my the forest, | looked at
the object-nOt bigger | thought than an
ear of cOrn-lOng and attentively. The
stretch of road was deserted; | ran hastily
across, not pausing in my flight, but stoop-
ing low and Selling the thing as passed
it was cOrn
Now | was on the east of the Germanna
Road; | had crossed it for the reason that
to get the corn, or whatever it might prove
to be, and return to the side whence / had
started. would have required an instant
longer than the undelayed course, and l
knew the possibility of one instants los
ing me. | had the corn, an ear in the
found to my delight, a heavy grained, full
ear. At least | should not starve.
On the plantations i'll the South before
the war, the ration, or allowance" for
field hand was II peck Of-corn meal and
three pounds of bacon a week. | had very
frequently heard it said that a hundred
good ears would make bushel. | had,
therefore, in the rough, a little more than
the meal for a slaves breakfast. / had no
bacon, unfortunately, and in that respect
was so much worse off than the slave, yet
| was happy that | was no longer desti-
tute. These thoughts ran rapidly through
my relieved mind. / write them here
trivial they may seem to many-tO EN-
phasiZe the distress | had felt and the
relief | now experienced. / had, it is true,
hut one meal. and that in its crudest form;
| wanted more: | felt that what money |
had in my pocket-abOut $50 in currency
would be a small price to pay for one
more good ear of corn.
/ recrOssed the road, no one being yisi-
BILE. The sun was now fully 20 degrees
above the horizon, and / was afraid to
lose time; | kept on in southeast direc-
ton, chewing corn as / went.
Some two miles from Germanna Ford
| saw a small clearing and cautiously APP
preached it. On my side of the road stood
Il blacksmith shop, deserted. A log cabin
was near it. | went deeper into the woods
and passed on.
The day was growing. l wanted to com
plete my work by noon. My journey back
could be made more rapidly in the night,
and with greater safety, but L needed
sleep, and | knew that if / should sleep
after night had come l should suffer from
cold. ! hastened on, going at the rate of
a mile and a half an hour. Three-quarters
of a mile or so beyond the blacksmith
shop, | came in sight of another clearing
and went toward it. There was a one
room cabin with smoke rising from its
chimney. A little garden, now bare of
vegetables, stretched behind the cabin. |
got on my knees and crawled up to the
garden fence and looked through. In the
garden was q small group-twO women,
one old, the other of middle age, a bent
old man leaning on staff. boy, and
girl. My gaze was at once attracted to a
fresh heap of earth around which these
persons were standing. On the heap of
earth was wooden box of peculiar shape,
made from boards of different length-a
piece of patchwork. The box was not a
coffin, but | knew at once from the heap
of earth, and from the mournful attitudes
of these desolate people, that the box was
doing a cOtfin's service. The box was small
"a coffin for an infant The old man
stood still, leaning on his staff. He took
no notice, seemingly, of what was being
done; | saw that he was blind.
w llH Eiut cOTuS IHe Two WOIlleH low
cred the little coffin into the grave, say
ing nothing, making no sound except the
noise made by the touch of the box
against the earth. Then | saw one of the
women, the younger, no doubt the mother
of the dead baby-l saw her stoOp and
rise again with common hoe in her hand.
| could stay no longer.
Yes, every able-bodied man was in the
Confederate army, or was a shirker. 1t
was u time in the South when it might al
most be declared that the dead buried
their dead. There was no minister here
to read service; there was no neighbor to
give a helping hand in this last and terri
bic necessity. But for those negroes who
remained faithful to the last, and are on
that account justly entitled to the graft
tude of the Southern peOple-which, how
ever, has, as yet, taken no substantial
FORM generally-the farms everywhere
would have grown up in briars, and the
families everywhere would not have been
able to live. But in this region there Were
not even slaves, and | wondered how this
family could, in this spot, continue to ex-
list. My heart was great with distress, not
for these persons merely, but for the gal
liant people-our own people-Of our
Southern land. How long will it be be-
fore this thing shall end? How long be-
fore reason comes back, and the people get
together once more and live in peace?
| crossed Flat Run, and came at length