Grains of corn were eagerly picked up in the streets as they dropped from the wagons, and the women and children of the lower class and the negroes flocked to the deserted camps to gather up the crumbs left by the soldiers or the grains trampled under foot of the horses.

Every house in a stretch of fifty miles was entered and insults and indignities offered the defenseless women which would have shamed the savage Turk.  Ladies were forced to disclose, at the point of the pistol or the sabre, the hiding-place of their little valuables.  Some were forced to cook meals and wait upon the hell hounds, while they regaled themselves upon the choice viands of medicinal wines of the planters’ wives.  But be it known to their immortal honor, that it was only on the most rare occasions that these proud dames of the South could, either by threat or brutal treatment, be forced to yield to their insolent demands.  With the orders from the soldiers to “prepare a meal” or “disclose the whereabouts of their money or valuables,” came the threat, “We will burn your house if you do not.”  But almost invariably came the quick response, “Burn it, burn it, you cowardly wretches, and kill me, if you wish, and all of us, but I will never soil my hands by waiting upon a cowardly Yankee, nor tell you the place of concealment—­find it if you can.”  The soldiers would question the negroes to find out if there were any watches, silver plate, or money belonging to the household; if so, they would, by a system of inquisition, attempt to force the women to give it up, but in vain.

A woman, Mrs. Miller, the wife of a neighbor of mine, had her husband’s gold watch in her bosom, and refused to give it up when demanded, even when a cocked pistol was at her head.  The vandal struck her a stunning blow with the butt end of the pistol—­all in vain.  The brave heroine held to the heirloom, and stoutly resisted all entreaties and threats.

Two old people living near me, brother and maiden sister, named Loner, both pass three scores, were asked to give their money.  They had none.  But one of the ruffians threw a fire brand under the bed, saying: 

“I will put it out if you will tell me where you keep your money; you have it, for I’ve been so informed.”

“Let it burn,” answered the old women.  “Do you think to frighten or intimidate me by burning my house that I will tell what I choose to conceal?  Do you think I care so much for my house and its belongings?  No, no; you mistake the women of the South.  You will never conquer her people by making war upon defenseless women.  Let the house go up in flames, and my ashes mingle with its ashes, but I will remain true to myself, my country, and my God.”

Soon all that was left of the once happy home was a heap of ashes.  Will God, in His wisdom, ever have cause to again create such women as those of the Southland?  Or were there ever conditions in the world’s history that required the presence of such noble martyrdom as was displayed by the women of the South during the Civil War?