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LIII The Negro Village
Girl 1 OUR family
lived
right hyar in Middletown, three miles north of whar Sheridan's army
camped at
Cedar Crick. I was about ten then. My father's name was Abe Spencer. He
was
free, and so was the rest of us. Besides him and Mother thar was six
children
at home. Our house was a log cabin on a back street jis' across the
road from
Mr. Wright's. What they
called
Yankee scouts used to come in hyar. I remember one of 'em by the name
of
Chrisman. He would generally go on this back street, and he'd wave his
hand as
he left. Always after he'd been to town we'd be lookin' for the Yankees
to
break in hyar, and it seem like Mother and the old heads were glad
watchin' out
for 'em to come. After the first part of the war it was mostly the Northern troops that we had around hyar. The Rebels wouldn’t git to stay no time. We never knew what was goin' to happen. The soldiers would take every bit of cabbage we had grown and cl'ar up the garden. They'd come right into the garden when we was workin' thar and take the things. They'd come into the house, too, and carry off whatever they could find to eat. Once two
of 'em
stopped out in front in the night. They sat thar on their horses and
kep'
a-hollerin': "Hello! Come out!" They
wanted to rob
the house. My sister's husband, Jacob, was with us that night, and he
got up
and was goin' out to fight 'em and run 'em away. But my sister said:
"Jacob, don't go out. You'll git shot." So he only
went and
stood on the steps, and he said, "If you darken this door, you'll never
darken another one." They
answered by
shootin', and a bullet whizzed right across Jacob's face. Jis' then a
guard who
was stayin' over at the Wrights come out, and the robbers went up the
street as
fast as they could go. An old
colored
servant named Billy worked for Mr. Wright, and one October mornin'
befo' day,
when we children were still in bed, he come rappin' at Mother's door
and called
to her: "Git up, Henrietta, git up! They're fightin'." Mother
roused up us
children, and we could hear the guns at Belle Grove, pop, pop, pop,
pop! Belle
Grove was jis' out of town 'bout a mile and a half. Mother went to the
gate,
and we children went, too, clingin' to her dress-tail. She was a very
nervous
woman, and she was skeered most to death. We stood and listened.
Ever'body in
town had got up and lit their lights. Father had gone to find out what
was
goin' on. He was a man that weighed nearly three hundred pounds, but he
toddled
around lively for a little while that mornin'. After the fightin' begun
in the
town he went into the house. The
Yankees come
rushin' through hyar with the Rebels right after 'em and knockin' 'em
in the
head, and the wounded men were cryin', "Oh Lord, oh Lord!" Thar Was
shootin'
all along this pike, and lots of bullets went through the upper part of
our
cabin, but I enjoyed it. I was small and didn’t understand the danger.
I
thought it was the finest thing that ever was, and my folks couldn’t
hardly
keep me in. Father and the others was all a-layin' down flat on the
floor by
the chimbly. But I wasn’t a bit skeered, and I'd run across to the
Wright's
back and forth. Oh! I was busy as a bee. The bumbshells was comin'
over, and I
jis' thought it was grand. One bumbshell lodged right in our garden. It makes
me laugh
yet to think what a goose I was. Once I went upstairs. We had kind of a
loft up
thar. I stuck my head through a window whar a pane of glass was broken
out. A
Union soldier had hid by the 'Piscopal church which was jis' beyond our
cabin,
and he was takin' aim at a Rebel on the corner. But the Rebel went
around onto
the next street out of range, and the Yankee looked up and saw me
watchin' him.
Then he pointed his gun at me, and said, "Take your head in or I'll
shoot
you." I went to
jerk my
head back and nearly drew the whole sash in. I was skeered that time.
You see
the hole was so small that my chin wouldn’t go through without I turned
my head
sideways. "Don't shoot, don't shoot!" I begged. "Little
girl," the man said, "I'm only funnin"'; and he jis' laid back
and laughed. While the
Rebels
was still rushin' the Yankees out I ran down to Main Street. They was
fightin'
thar, and I seen a Yankee shot on a horse. He reeled first this way,
then that,
and fell off, and his saddle was covered with blood. My parents come
after me
and whipped me back home. A few days
befo'
the battle, Uncle Billy, who belonged to Mr. Wright, brought a ham to
our
house. He wanted to have it whar it would be safe, and at the same time
he
wanted for to put it in a window to sun and keep the skippers out of
it. If the
skippers was already in thar, and the hot sun struck it, they'd come
out and
jis' hop and git away from it and die. Uncle Billy carried the ham
upstairs and
left it on a windowsill. Mother told him it wasn’t safe thar and that
it would
be stolen by the soldiers. But he says: "Heny, I'm not afeard of 'em.
They
won't take it." The window
was on
the side of the house toward the garden, and he didn’t think any
soldiers would
go around that way. But on the day of the fight they went everywhar. A
number
of apple trees was back thar, and some Rebel soldiers was gittin'
apples and
saw the ham. They knocked it out with a pole. Yes, they taken Uncle
Billy's
ham, and when he went to look for it later it was gone. "Oh Heny!" he
says, "my Lord! they've got my ham." She says,
"Billy, I told you not to put your ham in that window." He hurried
out and
hunted and hunted, but his ham was gone for good. He went all to pieces
then,
and he had no more use for Rebels. Thar was
an uproar
all that day. In the afternoon the Southerners was retreatin', and two
Rebel
men come in our house and said, "We want something to eat." "Well, you
won't git no food from me," Mother says. "I've got nothing for
you." "You
certainly
must have something hyar," they said. But she
wasn’t
goin' to let 'em have anything, and they talked very mean to her. "Are
you
slave or free?" they asked. Mr. Wright
had said
to her: "Heny, you let on like you belonged to me. Jis' tell that to
any
soldiers that come around a-troublin' you, and you'll be safer." So she
says:
"My white people live across the road hyar. My master is Mr. Wright."
"Are you
shore
you're a slave?" one of the men said. "Yes," she answered. "I don't
believe it," the other feller says. "You're a liar." Some
soldiers were
so owdacious they'd jis' as soon shoot you as not, and Mother got
pretty
uneasy. She went and looked out of the door, and I was walkin' right at
her
heels. "Gentlemen," she says, "you better git out of hyar. The
Yankees are on the next street." "No,
they're
not," the men said. "We done whipped the Yankees this morning, and
we're not botherin' about them no mo'." But
Sheridan was
comin' back, and the two fellers looked out and started to run. On the
corner
was a Yankee ridin' horseback. He was a cavalryman. "Halt!" he
hollered. "Give up your guns," and he captured the two rascals. That was
good
enough for 'em. They was fixin' to raise sand with my mother. Oh! some
of the
soldiers on both sides was pretty rough. The Rebels
had
artillery in the orchard behind the church, and the Yankees come so
sudden that
when the artillerymen tried to hitch horses to the cannon to drag 'em
away, the
horses got tangled up, and the men couldn’t git the guns started. After
that we
heard the Yankees backin' the Rebels back through the town. Mother had
done
washin' and ironin' befo' the battle for the men who were out at the
Yankee
headquarters. She baked bread for 'em, too, and made up a little
nourishment
such as cakes and custard, and they'd double pay her. They thought the
Southern
cooking was fine. Some of 'em rode up to our door that evenin' and
shuck hands
with her. "Glad to meet you, Aunty," they said. "You see we're
back on our old ground once more." It wasn’t
quite
dark when they called, and they hadn’t hardly gone when Charlie
Matthews come
bustin' in our door. He was a poor, raw-boned consumptive young strip
of a man
who was one of our white neighbors. "Aunt Heny! Uncle Spencer! save
me!" he cried. The Yankee
soldiers
had been lookin' around for Rebel scouts, and they happened to see him
down
street wearin' gray clothes. Every one dressed thataway had to tell 'em
his
business. He ran and they right after him, but he dodged a corner and
they lost
track of him. I remember
Father
pushin' Charlie up the chimbly. Then pretty soon the Yankee soldiers
come to
the door and asked if we'd seen anything of a young feller runnin'
around hyar
dressed in gray clothes. "No," we
said, "we haven't seen no strangers. We haven't seen nobody but what we
knowed." That
satisfied 'em,
and they went along. We had to keep Charlie up the chimbly till after
night. It
was a job to git him out. Father had to take hold of his legs and pull
him
down. His coat was all slid up around his shoulders. Some places on his
face
was cl'ar, and other places was as black as tar. His clothes was all
full of
pot-black, sut, and stuff, and his hair was standin' up jis' like
bristles. If the
Yankees had
caught him they'd 'a' killed him. They caught a Rebel woman dressed
like a man
scouting around, and they hung her in some woods right out on the edge
of town.
She wore the men's clothes over her dress, and they pulled 'em off, and
those
clothes laid thar on the ground in the woods till they rotted. I saw
them. I always
went with
my aunt to milk in the evening at Mr. Wright's barn. On the night of
the battle
we was on our way to the barn when I heard somethin' movin' near the
woodpile
whar thar was lots of leaves. It was a scramblin' sound. Aunt heard it,
too,
and she said, "You see what that is." Then she went along to milk. I scraped
the
leaves away and found a little feller with yeller stripes on his pants.
He was
a Rebel and belonged to the artillery. I ran to get Doctor Garr. The
doctor
come back with me, and we picked the little feller up and carried him
to a
cabin in the doctor's yard. The leaves was stickin' all over him he was
so bloody.
A bullet had gone through his head. He didn’t reco'nize any one — but
while the
doctor was washing the blood off he spoke several words. The only word
we could
make out was "Mother." He said that twicet. The next night he died,
and he was buried behind the 'Piscopal church. Some one wrote to his
parents.
They was well-to-do, and they sent and got him. The
mornin' after
the battle Father took me out to show me a field whar thar had been
some very
hot fight-in'. I remember he led me by the hand. We saw one man not far
from
our house, right over a fence, who lay thar with the top of his head
shot off.
His brains and scalp were in his hat. Oh! it was the most scan'alous
thing I
ever saw in my life the way men was shot to pieces. We plough
up bones
out hyar on the fields yet, and bullets, and Yankee buttons and buckles
with
U.S.A. on 'em. Until lately we found canteens, but those old canteens
are about
rusted up now. 'Bout a
couple of
days after the battle we had a roast of beef in the oven. It had been
sent over
from headquarters, and it was a great large roast. We was to have part
for
roastin' it. Whenever the soldiers was goin' through the country hyar
we kep'
our front door fastened up. But this time a soldier come to the back
door and
says, "Got anything to eat?" He was a
cavalryman, and another young feller was out at the gate with their
horses. Mother
told him,
"No." Meat was
meat then.
We didn’t often have any, and we was nearly dyin' for it. Mother hoped
to turn
the feller off, but he pushed right past her and went to the stove.
He'd opened
the stove door and was lookin' in when Mother whacked him 'cross the
back with
the broomstick. That made him leave the stove, and she whipped him out
of the
room. Then he turned on her and said, "I'll shoot you!" But jis'
then he
heard my sister, who had gone out the front door, holler to the guard
over to
Mr. Wright's — and of all the gittin' on horses you ever see! Indeed,
those two
fellers was lively! and they went up the street with all their might. I used to
have to
go to mill to git a little dab of flour. I wasn’t able to git much
because I
couldn’t carry it, and because we didn’t have the money to pay for only
a
little. The mill was a mile and a half out on the pike. A few weeks
after the
fight, when things was settlin' down a little bit, I started for the
mill with
a neighbor woman. We'd got
out hyar
on the hill a short distance from town when we met three young fellers
with
commissary wagons that they was walkin' along beside of. They stopped
when they
got to us and asked whar we was goin'. "We're
goin'
to mill," we said. "Stop
hyar," the tallest one says. He grabbed
the
woman that was with me, but she pulled away and fell back. I said,
"Aunt
Fanny, don't run. Let's fight 'em." I used to
fight
like a Turk when I was small. Any one that knowed me then will tell you
so. I
said to Aunt Fanny, "We'll take and whip 'em out and go about our
business." But when I
looked
around my help was gone — and she was a great large woman, too! She ran
away
across the field cl'ar back to town. She was a lightning bird. I didn’t
think
she was running. I thought she was a-flyin'. I imagine I hear her
coat-tail
whippin' yet as she ran. It was
right funny,
but I was so spunky I wouldn’t run, and I fought those three fellers. I
was a
fat chunk, but at the same time I was strong and active. "I'm not
afeard
of you," I said. I fit with
my hands
and scratched and pulled. When they got hold of me thar was something
doin', I
tell you! I give that tallest feller all that was comin' to him. Every
time he
got near enough I'd rake with my finger-nails right down his face. I
had him
pretty well fagged out when he knocked me down, and then I used my feet
as well
as my hands. "Hold her
feet!" he hollered to the other two. So one of
the
fellers caught hold of 'em, but he couldn’t keep his grip very well
because I
didn’t have no shoes or stockings on, and I drawed back and kicked him
head
over heels. He was the smallest one. He kind of stayed back then. I grabbed
the
middle-sized feller by the hair with one hand, and with the other I got
hold of
his vest and was jis' a-wringin' him. Then I thought it was time to use
my
teeth. I bit like a horse. I bit him comin' and goin', and I'd holler,
"Let go of me!" He went to
smother
me by puttin' his hand over my mouth, and I taken his hand in jis' like
a
crocodile. I bit him awful. I bit till the blood come. I could hear my
teeth
a-grindin'. I tried to eat him up. I'll bet he's carryin' the marks
to-day if
he's livin'. The feller
swore at
me, and said, "I'll shoot you if you don't let go of me." He was
chokin' me,
but I never let go my holt and he'd have killed me if thar hadn’t been
any one
near. Mr. John Miller had a big farm right out on the pike, and as he
was
comin' out of his gate ridin' his horse he saw that some one was havin'
trouble
with the soldiers. So he galloped full speed to whar we was fightin'.
He knew
me well and my parents, and when he saw who it was he hollered: "Let go
of
that child! Let go of that child!" Mr. Miller
took the
three men right to headquarters, and they was punished. Their heads was
shaved,
and they was tied up by the thumbs. I went
along to the
mill. I was afeard not to do the errand when my mother had sent me.
I've got
a-many a whippin' for not doin' as my parents told me. They was very
strict
with their children, and we had to obey 'em or have a very lawful
excuse. So I
went and got the flour at the mill, and when I reached home I was
lookin'
pretty raggedy, but I wasn’t hurt. I tell you it was a time through hyar when the North and South was fightin'. I never want to see another war. ________________ 1 She was a very
corpulent woman
beginning to be elderly, but she still had much bodily vigor and a
lively mind,
and her ample features twinkled with good humor. We visited in the
kitchen of
her comfortable frame house, with listening children gathered about in
chairs
or lying on a sofa that was there. |