and she carried the marks on her face and hands where he had thrown knives at her. Such treatment as she got from us was something new to her; and there was nothing she would n't do for us, in return.

"For heaven's sake, missus,' says she, 'bury some flour for the chil'n!' I gave her the keys to the smoke-house, and told her to do what she pleased. Send all the niggers off the place but me and my son,' she says, 'for I don't trust 'em.' Then she and her son buried two barrels of flour, the silver pitcher and goblets, and a box of clothes. But that night she dreamed that the Yankees came and found the place; so the next morning she went and dug up all the things but the flour, which she had n't time to remove, and buried them under the hog-pen. Sure enough, when the Yankees came, they found the flour, but her dream saved the rest. She was afraid they would get hold of her son, and make him tell, so she kept him in the chimney-corner, right under her eyes, all day, pretending he was sick.

"Some of the negroes were very much excited by the Yankees' coming. One of our black girls jumped up and shouted, Glory to God! de Yankees is comin' to marry all we niggers!' But they generally behaved very well. A black man named Charles, belonging to one of our neighbors, started with a load of goods, and flanked the Yankees for three days, and eluded them.

"A good many houses were burned in our neighborhood. Some that were occupied were set on fire two or three times, and the inhabitants put them out. The Yankees set the woods on fire, and we should have all been burnt up, if our negroes had n't dug trenches to keep the flames from reaching the buildings. General Sherman and his staff stopped at the house of a man of the name of Walker, in Barnwell District. While Mr. Walker was thanking him for protecting his property, he turned around, and saw the house on fire. General Sherman was very indignant. Said he, If I could learn who did that, he should meet with condign punishment!'

"The foragers broke down all the broadside of our barn,

and let the corn out; then they broke down all the broadside of the garden, and drove in. We had three hundred bushels of corn; and they took all but fifty bushels; they told me to hide that away. We had three barrels of syrup, and they took all but one gallon. They took eight thousand pounds of fodder, and three barrels of flour, all we had. We had twelve hundred pounds of bacon, and the soldiers took all but three pieces, which they said they left for the rest to take. We had twelve bushels of rough-rice; they left us three; and afterwards soldiers came in and threw shot in it, and mixed all up with sugar.

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They loaded up our old family carriage with bacon and sweet potatoes, and drove it away, and that hurt me worse

than all.

"They took our last potatoes. Three or four had just been roasted for the children: Damn the children!' they said; and they ate the potatoes.

"Out of forty hogs, they left us six. We had twenty-one head of cattle, and they left us five. The officers were very kind to us, and if we could have had them with us all the time, we should have saved a good deal of stuff. One Yankee lieutenant was with us a good deal, and he was just like a brother to me. He reprimanded the soldiers who spoke saucily to us, telling them to remember that they had mothers and sisters at home. He wanted me to put out a white flag, because my husband is a Northern man. But I said, I'll see this house torn to pieces first, for I'm as good a Rebel as any of them!' He took three wagon-loads of corn from us: I thought that was mighty hard, if he cared anything for me." It was he, however, who left her the fifty bushels, which nobody took.

"The soldiers were full of fun and mischief. Says one, I'm going to the smoke-house, to sweeten my mouth with molasses, and then I'm coming in to kiss these dumb perty girls.' They emptied out the molasses, then walked through it, and tracked it all over the house. They dressed up their horses in women's clothes. They tore up our dresses and

WHITE OFFICERS AND COLORED GIRLS. 551

tied them to their horses' tails. They dressed up the negroes that followed them. They strung cow-bells all around their horses and cattle. They killed chickens and brought them into the house on their bayonets, all dripping.

"Two came into the house drunk, and ordered the old cook to get them some dinner. She told them we had nothing left. 'Go and kill a weasel!' said they. She boiled them some eggs. They took one, and peeled it, and gave it to my little boy. 'Here, eat that!' said one. But I've a good mind to

blow your brains out, for you 're a dd little Rebel.' This man was from Connecticut, a native of the same town my husband came from. It would have been curious if they had met, and found that they were old acquaintances!

"Some behaved very well. One was handling the fancy things on the what-not, when another said, 'It won't help crush the Rebellion to break them.' I ain't going to break them,' he said, and he did n't.

"My husband had moved up a large quantity of crockery and glass-ware from his store in Charleston, for safety. The Yankees smashed it all. They would n't stop for keys, but broke open every drawer and closet. There wasn't a lock left in the neighborhood.

"For three nights we never lay down at all. I just sat one side of the fireplace and another young lady the other, thinking what had happened during the day, and wondering what dreadful things would come next.

"She had helped me bury three boxes of silver in the cellar. The soldiers were all around them, and afterwards I found one of the boxes sticking out; but they did n't find them. When they asked me for my silver I thought I'd lie once, and I told them I had none. It's a lie,' says one. Then the old cook's son spoke up, Take the word of a slave; she's nothing buried.' On that they stopped looking.

"Some of the officers had colored girls with them. One stopped over night with his miss at the house of one of our neighbors. When they came down stairs in the morning, she was dressed up magnificently in Mrs. J's best clothes.

They ordered breakfast; while they were eating, the last of the army passed on, and they were left behind. Captain,' says she, aint ye wery wentur'some?'

"When one division was plundering us, the men would say, 'We're nothing; but if such a division comes along, you're gone up.'

"Besides the fifty bushels of corn the lieutenant left us, I don't think there were fifty bushels in the whole district. Our neighbors were jealous because we had been treated so much better than they. The Yankees did n't leave enough for the children to eat, nor dishes to eat off of. Those who managed to save a little corn or a few potatoes, shared with the rest. "We thought we were served badly enough. Of all my bedding, I had but two sheets and a pillow-case left. The Yankees did n't spare us a hat or a coat. They even took the children's clothes. We had n't a comb or a brush for our heads the next day, nor a towel for our hands. But, after all is said about Sherman's army, I confess some of our own soldiers, especially Wheeler's men, were about as bad.

"I never gave the negroes a single order, but they went to work, after the Yankees had passed, and cleared up the whole place. They took corn and ground it; and they went to the Yankee camp for meat, and cooked it for us. Our horses were taken, but they planted rice and corn with their hoes. There were scarcely any white men in the country. Most were in the army; and the Yankees took prisoners all who came under the conscript act. They carried some away who have never been heard from since.

"My husband was in Charleston, and for weeks neither of us knew if the other was alive. I walked seventeen miles to mail a letter to him. The old cook went with me and carried my child. From seven in the morning until dark, the first day, I walked twelve miles; and five the next. The old cook did n't feel tired a bit, though she carried the baby; but she kept saying to me, 'Do don't set down dar, missus; we'll neber git dar!' We were two days coming home again."

FALL OF PRIDE.

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CHAPTER LXXVII.

THE BURNING OF COLUMBIA.

"IT has pleased God," says the writer in the "Daily Phoenix," already quoted, "to visit our beautiful city with the most cruel fate which can ever befall states or cities. He has permitted an invading army to penetrate our country almost without impediment; to rob and ravage our dwellings, and to commit three fifths of our city to the flames. Eighty-four squares, out of one hundred and twenty-four which the city contains, have been destroyed, with scarcely the exception of a single house. The ancient capitol building of the State-that venerable structure, which, for seventy years, has echoed with the eloquence and wisdom of the most famous statesmen - is laid in ashes; six temples of the Most High God have shared the same fate; eleven banking establishments; the schools of learning, the shops of art and trade, of invention and manufacture; shrines equally of religion, benevolence, and industry; are all buried together, in one congregated ruin. Humiliation spreads her ashes over our homes and garments, and the universal wreck exhibits only one common aspect of despair."

Columbia, the proud capital of the proudest State in the Union, who ever supposed that she could be destined to such a fate? Who ever imagined that in this way that fine bird, secession, would come home to roost?

Almost until the last moment the people of South Carolina, relying upon the immense prestige of their little State sovereignty, even after the State was invaded, believed that the capital was safe. Already, during the war, thousands of citizens from Charleston and other places, in order to avoid the possibility of danger, had sought the retirement of its beautiful shady streets and supposed impregnable walls. The popula