"I may be wrong about this, however, and, therefore, will return to my story, believing that the Lord doeth all things well.
"Peter and our family at home were sitting in the parlor. Jennie was wrapping Peter's foot in cloths and bandages, when the conversation turned on Col. David and Col. Anderson. Jennie had a letter from David but a day or so before, which gave us the news of the good health of himself and James, the doctor. It also informed her that Henry had been assigned to duty in the same command with himself, which made it very pleasant for them. My wife, Aunt Sarah, had received a letter from Mary Anderson a day or so before which brought the gratifying intelligence that the Colonel was improving rapidly and would be able soon to return to Allentown and once more enjoy for a time the quiet of our home. He was informed that he must not return to take the field again for some months. While I was at home, trying to arrange the difficulty about the colonelcy of his regiment, inasmuch as his discovery and return to Dolinsburg had not been officially announced, I wrote to the President the situation, telling him the whole story and calling his attention to the reports of the battles in which the Colonel had participated, and asking that he give him recognition by promotion to a Brigadier-Generalship. With this request the President had kindly complied, and I had his commission in my possession, which fact I kept a profound secret. Just then Peter said to me:
"'What can be done to arrange matters in Col. Tom's regiment? There is Col. Rice, who, when Tom takes command or when the facts are ascertained, will be reduced in his command as Lieutenant-Colonel, and I will go back as Major. This I do not care for, but Col. Rice is a proud man, and will dislike this, I fear.
"'Then he will show himself an unworthy officer. He should be glad that his Colonel is alive and yield up the command gracefully.'
"'There is no other way for him to do,' said Peter; 'that is true.'
"Old Ham was sitting off to one side with little Mary Anderson on his lap. The child had been listening to what was said about her father. She spoke to Uncle Ham, as she, with the rest of the family, had learned to call him, and asked:
"'When is papa coming home? Is he well? Is mamma well? How will they get home?' and many other questions.
"Ham said, 'I doesn't know. Hopes he git heah all right.'
"The old fellow seemed rather serious, and finally he asked Aunt Sarah 'If dat letta diin't say nuffln 'bout my ole woman Marfa.'
"'Oh, yes,' said my wife. 'Uncle Ham, you must pardon me; I was so engaged talking to Peter and Uncle Daniel about our sons that I really neglected to tell you. I will get the letter and read you what Mary says about your wife.'
"She took the letter from her pocket and read to Uncle Ham that Martha was well and so kind to Col. Tom, calling him her boy and saying 'the good Laud' had saved him for some good purpose, and sent her love to her 'dear ole Ham.'
"Ham broke into a laugh and said: 'Datfs it; dat's good. I knowed she say jes' like dat. I tell you, Aunt Marfa, she be all right. She know something I tell you she do.'
"He then entered into a disquisition on Aunt Martha to little Mary, until she seemed to feel as much interested in Aunt Martha as did Uncle Ham.
"While we were enjoying the rest of the evening in conversation we heard a noise coming from the children's bedroom. Jennie at once left us and proceeded to the room and found little Sarah Lyon--David's youngest child, then four years old--very sick with a violent attack of croup. We at once sent for a physician. He came, examined her and pronounced her very ill. He very soon gave her relief, that proved to be only temporary. We watched her during the night. In the morning she had a violent fever, and seemed to be very flighty. Everything was done for the blessed child, but all in vain. That afternoon she passed away. This was another stroke to our whole family. Jennie, her mother, was nearly frantic. This was the first misfortune of any sort that had happened in David's family. We were all cast down in grief, as we loved little Sarah. She had been named for my wife, who had made the child a special pet. Little Mary and Jennie were almost heartbroken by her death.
They cried continually, and could not be pacified for several days.
I telegraphed her father, but it seems my dispatch, for some unknown reason, was not delivered for three days. When it was he was almost crazed by the unwelcome news. It was too late, however, for him to come home. This seemed to sadden him. He was never himself any more during his life. Little Sarah lies in the cemetery at Allentown."
Here the old man broke down and wept bitterly for a time. When he recovered he said:
"My friends, it seems to me strange that I should weep now. My sorrows are passed. I am only waiting here below for the reward that true devotion must bring in the other world. There is no recompense for it here. At least, I have only found that which comes from the affections of a loving family. Oh! why should my family all-all have been taken from me as they were? Who has had such a hard fate as mine? Yes! yes!
when I come to reflect, many have. Yes! when all are gone--one or many--that is all; we can lose no more. My country, O! my country, it was for thee they died."
CHAPTER VI.
"K. G. C."--ORGANIZATION OF THE ENEMIES OF THE UNION IN THE NORTH--PLOTTING EVERYWHERE--OBJECTS OF THE TRAITOROUS LEAGUE.
"The bay trees in our country are all withered, And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven-- The pale faced moon looks bloody on the earth, And lean-looked prophets whisper fearful change, Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap."
--Shakespeare.
"The loss of little Sarah had spread such a gloom over our household that I felt a desire to be out at David's farm, away from the house, as much as possible. Peter also seemed much depressed and showed a great desire to return to his regiment. On one occasion, when Ham and I returned in the evening, the conversation drifted in the direction of the absent ones in the army, and to Harvey, who fell at the battle of the Gaps. My wife at once alluded to her dream, which seemed to be preying upon her mind almost constantly. Peter was silent, but I noticed that he dropped a tear. After a moment he said:
"'Mother, you should not be constantly thinking of your strange dream.
You will become morbid on the subject, unless you drive it from your mind. There is nothing in it that worrying will or can change. There can be nothing sure in dreams, and if there is, you can only discover it in the future. The war will reveal it all to you should there be anything in it."
"Ham must speak; it was thought by him to be his time.
"'Yes, missus, de wah 'splain it all. Massa Peter and me talk 'bout dat.
No danger come out of dreams, you know.'
"'Why, Ham,' said Aunt Sarah, 'I thought you dreamed about Peter, and said he was all right. You assured us of it; and you said that you always knew by your dreams when matters were all right.'
"'Yeas, yeas, missus; but, you see, I be fool on dat. You see, Massa Peter come back wid a so' foot, shot up putty bad. I got fool on dat dream. You see, Marfa allers tells me 'bout de dreams. So you see, I jes' thought I could tell, too. I miss it. Yeas, I miss him dat time.
Marfa, she know, she do. She tell you all 'bout dem when she comed.'
"Then he laughed a regular darky laugh, as I found he was sure to do, if he concluded he had drawn you off on a 'false scent,' or heard anything that pleased him.
"Aunt Sarah was relieved. The fact that Ham admitted that he was humbugged by his own dream seemed to quiet her nerves; so she did not allude to her dream again for a great while. But I could see plainly that Peter was very much depressed whenever allusion was made to it. O, it was prophetic, 'twas a revelation of dire calamities to follow, one after another.
"I could see it all when time unfolded the mystery, as it did, in regular order. It was a warning so strangely imparted. But why, why this warning, and why the calamities? That is the question which has been demanding an answer so long; and yet no answer comes that seems to satisfy my mind. Well, well, let that pass for the present.
"The next morning I sent Ham to the farm on horseback to bring some vegetables. Early in the forenoon we heard a noise as if the running of a horse down the street, and looking out saw Ham coming under heavy pressure, with sails spread. I ran out on the porch, and Ham pulled in opposite the little yard gate. I called to him, and asked what was the trouble. The old darky was so scared that he stammered and made motions, but I could get nothing of an intelligent character from him. I made him dismount, tie up his horse, and come in. By this time the family were all out inquiring into the trouble. Ham sat down on the edge of the porch near the entrance and fanned himself with his hat. Great drops of perspiration were rolling down his face. He seemed to be in much distress. Finally Jennie said to him:
"'Ham, where is the lettuce, the asparagus, and the butter we sent you after?'
"Ham, finding by this time that he was not dead, essayed to speak. He raised himself to his full height.
"'W'y! W'y! Yeas! Yeas! De--de--de--dey done gone!'
"'Gone where?' asked Jennie.
"'Dey done gone on de road, missus. I jes' tell you-uns dey's Sesh in heah. 'Spec dey got dem, dey eat dem for dey dinner. Dey got dem, sho.'
"'Well, what about the "Sesh," as you call them?
"'O, I tole you all 'bout dem. 'Pore de Laud, I mus' rest fust. I is powerful tired, missis--I is.'
"'Well, Ham, put up your horse and get over your fright, and then perhaps you can explain more satisfactorily what has happened to you.'
"'Yeas, missus, I 'spect dat am de bes' way.'
"So, when Ham had cooled off, we had him give us his experience. He said:
"'Well, Massa Daniel, I jes' go to de farm and dar seed Massa Joseph Dent. He fix up de littis, de 'sparagrass, and de eggs; and when dey all fix up I get ready to come home. He says, "Ham, you see dem fellows down de road dar?" I looked and seed 'em, and say "Yes, sah." Den he say, "Dey bad man's dey is; kase dey's done bin heah all de mornin' lookin'
round like dey wants sumfin, and I watch 'em close; if dey boddersme dey ketch it, sho;" dat's what he say! I done told Massa Dent dat I not feared. But dat was a story, kase me was some skea'd. I gits on de hoss and corned right on jes' like I wa'n't skea'd at all. I rides slow doe, kase as how I wa'n't sho' 'bout dem mans. So I gits 'bout half way down the road home, and dem mans--dar war free of dem; dar war free, sho', dey jes' steps right in de road afore me and de hoss. I say "Good mornin," and takes off my hat like a gemman. Dey say "Whar you goin', nigga?" Den I know'd who dey is. When dey say "nigga," dat's nuff for dis child. I know'd dey be "Sesh." Dat's what "Sesh" all call us--"niggas." I tells you, den I's ska'd. One ob dem say, "What you got dar, nigga?" I say "wegetables for de house." Ben dey say "Who house?'
I told dem Massa Daniel. Den dey say, "Dat ole Lyon? Dat ole Ablishner?
Dat ole scoun'el what want to whip de Souf? To free de niggas 'mongst us?" I say, "Don' know 'bout dat. Massa Lyon not say nuffin to me 'bout dat." Den dey sajr, "Whar you come from, anyhow?" I tole 'em I comed from up in de State whar Massa Daniel comed from. Den dey swar dat I a liar; dat dey know'd Massa Daniel; dat he fetched no niggas hyar from 'Hio. Den when dey say "'Hio," golly, I be glad; kase I could't smell out de name afore; forgot him clar, sho'. Den I say I comed from 'Hio awhile ago, an' stay wid you, kase I know'd you back dar in 'Hio. Den dey ax me w'at town I comed from. Den dey get me. I skea'd den. One of dem say, "O, he a d----d fool; he not know nuffin." I say, "Yes, sah, sho'; dat's fac. I doesn't know nuffin'bout dem matters what you say."
Den dey laff. Yes, sah, dey laff. I start on. Den dey say, "Nigga, stop dat hoss." De hoss stop. Yes, sah, den I be orful skea'd. O, dey was de mos' wostest lookin' disciplinous "Sesh" you eber did see wid yo' eyes.
Dey had ole brown jeans coat an' britches. Dey look like de "Sesh" what I seed when dey lef Col. Tom at my cabin.'
"'Well, said Peter, 'they were escaped prisoners, I have no doubt, from some place, and are hunting their way South.'
"'Yes, sah,' said Ham; 'dat's it; dey 'scape and is gwine back to de reb's army, sho': dat's who dey is. I know'd dey was "Sesh."'