♦ 
ANDERSONVILLE VIOLETS. 
Copyrighted by the Rural New-Yorker. 
All rights reserved. 
CHAPTER IX. 
JACK FOSTER’S WELCOME. 
,7 ack Foster stood on the steps of the Lones- 
burg court-house and looked down the street. 
The steps were broken and fallen in decay. 
The house was covered with dull stains. It 
had looked down upon many strange scenes 
since it smiled exultingly on Jack’s company 
marching away to battle, A melancholy 
sight it was that Jack looked upon. The lODg 
silent street, the closed houses and stores, and 
the grass gnawing its way up over the very 
sidewalks, all told their sad story of suffering 
and despair. Jack could not help thinking of 
the pictures that had passed before these sad 
old houses since he left them. The pict¬ 
ures seemed to pass before him like a dream 
as he stood on the broken steps with the sun 
in his eyes. The past; crowded before him in 
sullen review. 
A crowd of men gather about the court 
house steps. Eagerly, with frantic gestures 
they discuss. They shout and wave their 
arms and fiercely shake their fists. They pass 
inside at last and take their places on the 
rude benches. Old and young are there. 
Fierce scowling faces, with eyes that glitter 
with hate. A gray-haired man calls the com¬ 
pany to order. In passionate terms he alludes 
to the object of the meeting. Shall proud 
old Mississippi go out of the Union? Shall 
she cringe before the cowards of the North, 
or shall she stand up in proud defiance to 
protect her honor ? He pauses, and a mighty 
shout goes up from the crowd. The scowling 
faces light with a siuldc-n joy. 
“Down with the Yankees!’’ 
Jack himself seems to join in the shout. 
How confident they are. Defeat is impos¬ 
sible. How can the Yankee shop keepers 
even stand up before gentlemen? But haik! 
A hush falls over the company. An old man ) 
with a long white beard rises from his place 
and speaks deliberately against the proposi¬ 
tion. They know him well. It is the old 
preacher whose words have guided them so 
long. He points his long, thin linger at the 
crowd as he slowly says: “You nre sure to be 
beaten in the end. You will see your homes 
desolate, your families in want, your country 
in ruins aud the ground covered with your 
dead, and yet not one point for which you 
contended gained. Be warned in time and 
wait before you cry: 
‘Havoc, and let slip the dogs of war.’ ” 
But a shout of scorn goes up from the 
crowd. The men are frenzied with passion. 
A rush is made at the old preacher. Crash— 
a club falls on the white head. A loug crim¬ 
son streak darts out on the pale forehead, and 
he totters aud falls. The State goes out of the 
Uuion—enters upon its weary aud bloody 
pilgrimage. 
A company' of soldiers come marching down 
the long street. The sun glitters on the mus- 
ktts. The uniforms are bright and new. Every 
man is full of enthusiasm. Every man car¬ 
ries a magnolia at the end of his musket. The 
new banner that the ladies have blessed 
waves proudly over them. The crowds cheer 
wildly. The ladies are waving handkerchiefs 
or casting flowers before the heroes. Sweet¬ 
hearts are smiling through their tears, mothers 
are blessing their boys. It is all life aud en¬ 
thusiasm, Victory seems assured. But be¬ 
hind the silent crowd of negroes that gather 
at one corner, there seems to rise the warning 
ligure of the old white-haired preacher. Ho 
shakes his head, and waves his hand sadly as 
the bright column moves on. The red mark 
on his forehead glows with a hateful color. 
The streets are dull aud deserted. The 
stores are all closed. The houses look grimly 
down through closed blinds. The grass grows 
over the streets, The trees droop dismally 
down to whisper their sorrow. Decay has 
laid its dreadful hand upon everything. A 
group of negroes aud old men come straggling 
down the road. Ragged and dusty and feeble 
they march with implements of labor. 
Grant is coming! 
Out on the hills beyond the town, breast¬ 
works slowly rise. The workers are feeble 
and unorganized. A pause—aud then a great 
wave of blue with a crest that glitters in the 
sunlight comes sweeping over the breast¬ 
works. 
Graut has come! 
The blue column forms on the hillside and 
comes slowly marching through the long 
Street. Onward the soldiers come uuder the 
magnolias, white with fragrance. The trees 
will not bend lovingly over the invaders. The 
branches tremble with wrath. The flowers 
hang their heads iu shame. They had grow n 
in the hope of offering up their beautiful lives 
iu garlands for their own brave soldiers, 
They would gladly withhold their perfume 
from these stern victors. The sun gilds the 
bayonets. The ranks rise and fall like the 
billows of a mighty ocean. The flag on high 
is faded and tattered. The stars gleam like 
proud eyes from their field of blue. Dusty 
aud bearded and browu are the soldiers. 
There is no oue to welcome them save a crowd 
of negroes who wait awkwardly at the corner. 
The silent houses frown dowu upon the army. 
The women aud old men are inside, bid from 
sight, brooding over their country's dishonor. 
The officer at the head of the column touches 
his hat to the old flag that a negro waves. 
The soldiers halt iu the square. They break 
ranks and scatter through the town, Over 
the picture rises again the figure of the old 
preacher. He bows his head in his hands. 
His prophecy is being fulfilled. 
Jack could see all this as he stood ou the 
broken steps. Oue by one the pictures passed 
before him. How tine the preacher’s words 
seemed to him uow. The country was in 
ruins, he had seen the ground covered thickly 
with the dead, yet not one point had been 
gained. 
His had been a sad journey from Georgia. 
Dishonored and stripped of all right to defend 
his country he had come home. Home, the 
only place where comfort seemed possible. 
Home, where the strong and the weak, the 
humble and the proud, all must turu at last 
for comfort w hen all else fail. 
He knew not how he would be received. It 
seemed to him at times that be bad only to tell 
his story to couviuce Luey that he had refused 
to shoot the Yankee simply because he loved 
her. At times he felt that she must seu it as 
he did. But then he thought of her unreason¬ 
ing scorn for all cowards, of his proud old 
mother, and his heart failed within him. Ho 
had not written since his digrace. He still 
carried the letter he had written when death 
seemed to have almost touched him. He had 
determined to bear the news himself and as he 
slowly made his way across Alabama, he had 
proudly resolved to take the consequences like 
a mau. He could not convince himself after 
all that he had done wrong. Aud here he 
stood at last, at home, waiting only for cour¬ 
age to tell his story to the oues he loved. 
The street was almost empty. A few ragged 
negroes lay in the sun iu front of the two 
stores that were alone left to do what little 
business the town required. Two old men stood 
leaning up against the door of the market. 
The sign that used to swing so bravely in the 
air bad fallen to the ground, and no one seemed 
ambitious enough to put it back. The blinds 
were hanging loosely from their hinges. The 
building seemed to have grown prematurely 
old in watching the troubled scenes. The 
grass grew up almost to the sidewalk, push¬ 
ing with its restless fingers the sign of trade 
and traffic away. A blighting curse seemed to 
have fullen upon ull nature. 
After some hesitation. Jack remounted his 
mule and rode slowly down the street. The 
old men in front of the market looked at him 
curiously, but he pulled his hat down over 
his eyes aud escaped detection. The years 
had changed him and the old men bad passed 
through so much trouble and seen so many 
strange and terrible faces, that they had 
almost forgotten how their friends appeared. 
They took this strange mau to be iu some 
way connected with the Yankees. Who else 
could be ridmg through their desolate towu? 
No doubt they expected another raid, for 
they made haste to close the stores and take 
themselves out of sight. They could show 
just how the battles should have been fought, 
but when the foe came to close quarters they 
had no advice to offer. 
Jack rode slowly past the- deserted market. 
How well he knew the way. He reached 
Lucy’s house at last, aud, fastening his mule 
at the gate, walked hesitatingly up the walk. 
He had thought at first to find his mother 
before he saw Lucy, but somehow, he could 
not ride past the place. Everything had 
fallen in ruins. The high weeds grew up to 
the walk aud narrowed it to a modest foot 
path. They had destroyed every curve and 
strangled the feeble life out of the flower 
garden. Like true pirates of Nature they 
reached their hands exultingly over the uar- 
row path, and threatened to push it out of 
sight. The railing of the piazza had fallen 
away, and ono of the steps had broken dowu. 
The magnolias rustled Jack a welcome as 
he came up to the broken step. He could not 
enjoy their fragrance. He was thinking of 
the scene that lay before him. What could 
he say—he the dishonored soldier—to this wo¬ 
man that he loved so well aud who had suf¬ 
fered so much for the cause ? As Jack placed 
his foot ou the steps, an old uegro started up 
from the grass where he had been sleeping. 
He rubbed his eyes open and stared at Jack 
for a moment in wonder. Then ho ran stiffly 
to the back of the house shouting: “Mas>a 
Jack's come. Miss Lucy—Massa Jack!’’ 
Jack stepped to the door feeling like a very 
guilty man. Two white faces peered in at 
him from the end of the hall. Jack recog¬ 
nized bis mother and Lucy. An instant more 
aud the two women came rushing down the 
hall to meet him. Lucy reached him first and 
with a glad cry threw her arms about bis 
neck and put her head on his breast. Jack 
could not help drawing her to him and kissing 
her. As he looked down into her eyes he al¬ 
most wished he had shot the Yankee. 
The women led Jack into the parlor. How 
pale aud thin they seemed. Their dresses 
were old and threadbare, aud their hands 
roughened by the hardest work. They did not 
care for the ugly past uow that, the son aud 
lover had come back to them alive and hon¬ 
ored. Jack was surprised to see his mother 
in the towu. He did not fully realize what a 
terrible desolation had fallen upon the 
country. 
The negroes had done their best to butcher 
a living out of the land, but left to themselves 
they had grown idle and shiftless. The Union 
raids had run over the country so thoroughly, 
filling the negroes with an exalted idea of free¬ 
dom, that Mrs. Foster had lost control of her 
former slaves, and when she came into town 
to find Lucy aud her mother living alone she 
had been easily prevailed upon to live with 
them. So the three women had lived there 
alone, saying nothing to Jaek aud leaving 
the rich plantation to grow up to weeds aud 
wilderness. 
The women drew Jack to a sofa, aud sat 
down on either side of him. Poor fellow, he 
bung his head like a guilty man aud avoided 
the eyesturued upon him so lovingly. He had 
imagined this scene many times, but now that 
it had come it seemed harder thau he had 
dared to think. He knew that his story must 
be told, yet how could he tell it? The women 
noticed his dejection aud Lucy laid her baud 
on his arm as she asked quickly—“Have they 
surrendered Jack?” 
The man raised his head proudly: 
“We never surrender. We will fight to the 
last man”—and then suddenly remembering 
that he could fight no more for his country, 
he dropped his head sadly. 
Lucy’s eyes flashed proudly as he spoke. 
She was proud of her lover. Better this than 
victory purchased by dishonor. Jack’s mother 
looked at him curiously. With a mother’s in¬ 
stinct she knew that something was wrong. 
Her heart trembled, but she spoke slowly and 
coldly as she drew slightly away from him, 
“Why do you leave the army without no¬ 
tice? Whore is your uniform my sou? Are 
you ashamed or afraid to wear it ? We women 
have boasted to the Yankees that if you had 
been here they never would have dared to in¬ 
sult us. Why do you not speak ?” 
(To be continued.) 
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