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era! raid would sweep the barn, the
pens, and the smokehouse clean. In
summer they had their gardens and
vegetables, but in winter the great
articles of diet were cow beans and
corn bread.
4 i The close season for three years
had filled the country with game, but
bird and beast, except the rabbit,
were safe. Ah! Those old hares!
What a blessing they were to those
unfortunate noncombatants cooped
up in Mosby’s__Confederacy! The
boys and girls had traps set all
round the place, and rabbits roasted,
rabbits fried, rabbit hash, and rab
bit fricassee were the prevailing diet.
The people living near the Federal
camps fared better, for in all truth
and h nor to the soldiers in blue
they would give the country people
mess pork and hard-tack; and when
they broke camp, there would be lef.
quantities of provisions, which the
soldiers freely bestowed on those who
came flocking from far and wide to
share in the spoil. But for these
supplies most people along the rail
road would actually have died of
starvation.
“The Muse of history has written
on her scroll the gallant deeds and
the endurance of the Black Horse
Cavalry, but in heroic endurance they
cannot compare with the women of
old Fauquier. It is impossible for
the average American of today, as he
sits in his own home, with his fam
ily and friends around him, with civ
ilization encompassing him, he and
his protected by law, to understand
or to picture the existence that the
delicate, refined women of Mosby’s
Confederacy led for three years. They
were absolutely alone in.their dwell
ings. Every man capable of bearing
arms or act in the department was in
the service. There was but little vis
iting among the neighbors except in
case of dire necessity. There were
no churches open, no entertainments
to relieve the somber lives they led.
There were no stores where they
might purchase clothes or groceries,
no social intermingling to shorten the
long hours of the winter nights, and
just think of it, no fashion to give
joy to their feminine hearts. The ne
groes had long ago left, and these
delicate women had to cut wood and
carry it home on their shoulders,
bring water, and work in their gar
dens. They cut the hay, and culti
vated corn patches in some obscure
spot that a scouting party would not
be likely to find.”
‘We extract just one more page
from this intensely interesting con
tribution to the literature of the
Civil War:
“Warrenton, the county seat of
Fauquier, is a village of some eight
hundred people and famous in ante
bellum days for its lovely women
and its hospitalitv. It is beautifully
situated on a high range of hills. The
inhabitants, all well-to-do at the out
break of the war, grew wretchedlv
poor before the conflict was half
over. Warrenton was called the cap
ital of Mosbv’s Confederacy, and
everv Federal raiding party would
deflect from its course and dash
through its streets. It must have
been to the bbiecoa*s like
“ ‘Sweet Auburn, loveliest village
of the plain/
for everv door and window was tight-
Iv closed and not a snul was visible.
Yes, there was one exception: the
worthy mayor always met the visit
ing military with a bow and smile,
and offered them the keys and the
freedom of the town.. This happen
ed so often that ‘His Honor,’ like
a popular country doctor, was often
called up at the most untimely hours
of the night. .
“On one occasion a Federal
brigade of cavalry swept into town
one day at noon most unexpectedly.
It was a dull day in November, with
a heavy fog, and it caught the vil
lagers napping. A dozen or more
old men were rounded updßnd taken
before the general commanding.
“ ‘What is your name?’ he asked
one.
“ ‘My name is Rabbit, s ; r. ’
“ ‘And yours?’ addressing the
next one.
“ ‘My name is Coon, sir.’
“ ‘Yours?’ he asked of a little
Dutchman.
“ ‘Lion,’ was the replv.
“ ‘Adjutant,’ roared the general,
‘lead all these men to their homes;
we have struck ad — menagerie.’
“Yet these m n gave their correct
names. It was a curious coincidence
that they all should have been to
gether. ’ ’
Let the woman you look upon be
wise or vain, beautiful or homely,
rich or poor, she has but one thing
she can really give or refuse —her
heart. Her beauty, her wit, her ac
complishments, she may sell to you,
but her love is a treasure without
price. She only asks in return that
when you address her your voice shall
be gentle, be loving and kind; that
you shall not despise her because she
canitot unde; stand all at once, your
vigorous thoughts and ambitious
plans, for when misfortune and evil
have defeated your greatest purposes
she remains to console you. You look
upon the trees for strength and gran
deur; do not despise the flowers be
cause their fragrance is all they have
to give. Remember, love is all they
have to bet stow —but it is the only
earthly thing which God permits us
to carry beyond the grave.—Merkel
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