Ciinmij. 
ANDERSONVILLE VIOLETS. 
Copyrighted by the Rural New-Yorker. 
All rights reserved. 
chapter xi,— (Continued.) 
Mrs. Foster still sat in thecbair into which 
she bad fallen, with her face still covered with 
her hands. Her white hair bad fallen about 
her neck. The preacher was kneeling with 
his face toward the door, nud his hand upon 
an open Bible that la} 7 on the table. The red 
sear on his forehead seemed to fade away as 
he prayed. The soldier stood for a moment 
in silence. Then with his cap in bis hand, ho 
stepped as softly as possible out at the door, 
and walked down the path, bis sabre clanking 
as be went. 
“It’s all right boys,” he said as bis comrades 
laughed at him. “It’s all right. I ’spose like 
enough he was prayin’ the whole Union 
straight into a hole, butthatold woman looked 
just like my mother an’ I quit.” The boys did 
not laugh at bis explanation. They thought 
of their mothers at home praying for them. 
It was something the roughest could under¬ 
stand. A few moments after the first soldier 
disappeared, another marched in at the gate. 
A young, boyish figure it was, with a clear 
skin and bright curls. It was his first cam¬ 
paign evidently. He marched pompously up 
to the door, drew 7 his pistol, and walked in. 
The old preacher rose from his seat to meet the 
young soldier. He could hardly suppress a 
smile at the youth’s importance. 
“What do you wish?” ho asked pleasantly. 
“I demand t he surrender of this house in the 
name of the United States Government, and I 
order } 7 ou to bring forth any soldiers timtruay 
be concealed hero," answered the young hero 
with a theatrical gesture. 
The preacher answered with a smile, “We 
surrender most certainly to a superior force. 
March in aud take possession at once." 
The young man marched over the thresli- 
hold aud begau a sentence beginning, “Duty" 
when a little picture on the mantel caught his 
eye, aud sadly broke into bis eloquent speech. 
It was only a small tin-type of a fair-haired 
girl. There was a hole cut in the top as if 
some soldier bad carried it about his neck. 
The boy—for he was nothing more—caught 
the picture hurriedly and closely exam¬ 
ined it. 
“Where did you get that?” he asked hastily, 
“that is my sister’s picture." 
“One of your soldiers left it here,” said the 
old preacher calmly. “He was wounded just 
outside the town, and we brought him here 
and cared for him till he died. We found this 
picture tied about bis neck. Mary, I think he 
said her name was, though he could not talk 
intelligently. 
The soldier’s lip trembled as the preacher 
spoke. The martial air was dropped at once. 
The victor was ready to surrender. 
“He was engaged to her, sir,” he said. “He 
was like a brother to me, and we never knew' 
w'here he died. Forgive me,” he said, impul¬ 
sively, “for coming in here as I did. I did not 
mean to insult you.” 
He grasped the preacher’s hand as he spoke, 
and there were tears in the blue eyes. The 
bugle sounded far dowu the street, and he 
hurried away with the little picture as his 
only booty. One girl in the North will think 
kindly of the Southern man who cared for 
her lover. 
It was late in the afternoon when Jack 
came back to the town. He had made a long¬ 
er trip than he intended. With the help of 
an old negro he bad put his mother’s room into 
something like order, and set the hands to 
work at cleaning away something of the rub¬ 
bish that had accumulated all over the place. 
He knew that his mother would prefer to be 
at home where she could brood over her 
troubles. He came back to take her away 
from the town; but she was not to go after 
all. The preacher met Jack at the door with 
a very grave face. 
“Your mother is very sick, John,” he said. 
‘‘You had better go iu and talk with her, aud 
if there is anything that you can say to set 
her mind at rest, you had better say it. You 
know what 1 mean, my boy; there must be 
something about this matter that will make it 
easier for her to bear. I know yuu too well 
to think that you have no defense to make.” 
Jack made no answer. He walked iuto the 
darkened room where his mother lay. An 
old negro woman sat at the head of the lied, 
fanning her old mistress. Jack sent her away. 
He took the fau in his own hand and drew a 
chair up to the head of the bed. Mrs. Foster 
had changed much siuee the morning. Her 
face seemed haggard aud pale in the dark¬ 
ened room. She smiled feebly and held out 
her hand to her boy. All her pride had been 
burned away; she was only a weak mother 
now. 
Jack, touched at the sight of her poor, thin 
face, kissed her and put his head on the pillow 
beside her’s, as he used to do years and years 
before. She placed her hand on his forehead, 
and there, like a boy who comes to his mother 
to confess his sins, he whispered to her all the 
story. She did not ask him to tell it, but it 
seemed to him, for the moment, that ho was a 
little boy again and that her smile could 
bring him comfort as of old. She listened in 
silence, brushing back his hair as ho talked. 
She understood him now. A mother can 
always understand her boy when his wife or 
sweetheart could never read him. They lay 
there for a long time after he told his story, 
she still brushing his hair hack from his fore¬ 
head. Somehow, he seemed dearer to her 
than he had ever been before. Somehow, he 
seemed to forget his trouble and shame. 
“ You will promise me one thing," she said 
at last—“You will stay here aud live this 
down won’t you?” 
“I will” said Jack between his teeth. He 
knew what the promise meant, yet lie could 
not refuse. She reached forward and drew 
his head up to her bosom. She kissed him 
very tenderly and then turned away on the 
pillow 7 . Jack heard her sob, and she covered 
her face with her hands- till the sobs died away. 
Jack knew that she was praying for him. At 
last she turned to him again and laid her 
hand on his head as she had done before. The 
light faded slowly out of the room and all the 
sounds of the twilight came on. The hum of 
insects, the rustle of the trees aud vines and 
the dim whisperings from the creeping shad¬ 
ows. The mother and sou lay there without a 
word. The baud ou Jack’s head grew cold 
and clammy. Ho started up aud threw back 
the heavy curtains. His mother was dead— 
dead with the first smile ou her lips that had 
touched her face for many a day. Death had 
brought her the comfort life had denied. He 
could not weep and wish her back to life 
again, he knew- that she was happier in death. 
He almost wished he w-as with her. 
The townspeople came to the funeral and 
many of them wept at the old preacher’s ser¬ 
mon. Mauy an eye that the horrors of war 
had long starved of moisture, was filled with 
tears. The congregation was made up mostly 
of w-oraen and old men. They recoiled in 
horror from Jack. It seemed to them that be 
had killed his mother. They magnified his 
fault a thousand times. He proudly kept the 
truth locked in his heart where none could 
read it. Lucy would not listen to him and be 
cared nothing for the others. No one spoke 
to him. He sat alone through the services. 
He walked slowly behind as they carried his 
mother away. When he came to the side of 
the grave the people stepped back and left 
him alone. Lucy wept over the coffin, but 
she turned her back on Jack when he came 
near her. The old preacher tried to say a 
kind word when the mourners came back 
from the grave, but Jack would not listen. 
He went back to the plantation and never 
came into town. He worked on in a feeble, 
half-hearted way, shuuued by his old friends, 
and caring little what was doue with him. 
A few Union people of the place and the 
negroes soon got the idea that Jack was their 
friend. No one knew just what his crime had 
been. It was generally understood that he 
had, in some way, helped the Yankees. The 
negroes came from miles around to ask the 
news, and many of them expected Jack to 
arm and lead them out to attack a detach¬ 
ment of Rebel soldiers that, once wandered 
that way. Jack’s heart grew very bitter that 
uigbt when be looked out upon the motley 
band of black men gathered before his house. 
There they stood in the moonlight drawn up 
iu savage strength. They urged him to lead 
them out to attack the men with whom be hail 
fought. They tossed their rude weapons in 
the air aud told with savage glee of the brut¬ 
al revenge they would take. 
He lived aimlessly on till the dull years 
slowly dragged through to the end of the wur. 
Then a new bitterness was in store for him. 
The soldiers came back and he saw yet more 
plainly what an awful gulf stretched between 
him aud his people. Ho saw how it never 
could be bridged on this side of the grave. 
The cause of the Confederacy was to be held 
sacred by those who had sull’ered for it. It 
could not be otherwise. The busy, exulting 
North, in its groat generous burst of triumph 
could overlook, forgive one who helped the 
enemy. Not so with such as Jack Foster. 
His record will follow him to the grave. The 
soldiers came scattering along, sometimes one 
at a time, and sometimes in little groups. 
They came slowly and reluctantly. They had 
been beaten when they had sworn to bring 
victory or die. The long years of agony and 
sorrow had gone for nothing. There w-as 
nothing to sweeten the memory of the dead, 
only the dull sting of defeat that would not 
lie in the graves of their loved ones. 
Catarrh in the Head 
Originate In scrofulous taint 111 tlic blood. Hence 
th«*p roper method by which to cure catarrh, Is to 
purify the blood. Its many disagreeable symptoms, 
and the danger of developing Into bronchitis, or that 
terribly fatal disease, consumption, are entirely re 
moved by Hood's Sarsaparilla, which cures catarrh 
by purifying (he blood; It also tones up the system 
and greatly Improves the general health. Try the 
“peculiar medicine." 
"Hood’s Sarsaparilla cured me of catarrh, soreness 
of the bronchial tubes, and terrible headache.” R. 
Gibbons, Hamilton, Ohio. 
“For 25 years 1 have been troubled with catarrh In 
I he head, Indigestion, and general debility. I con- 
eluded to try a bottle of Hood’s Sarsuparllla. It did 
me so much good that I continued Its use, and my 
health has greatly Improved.” Mrs. J. 13. Adams, 8 
Richmond Street, Newark, N. J. 
Hood’s Sarsaparilla 
Sold by all druggists. $1; six for $5. Prepared only 
by C. I. HOOP & CO., Apothecaries, LOWdl, Mass. 
IOO Doses One Dollar 
Sail indeed it was to see these brave fellows 
who had given all for what they thought to be 
their duty, come back iu this way to their old 
homes. The towns were guarded by Union 
soldiers, the slaves were all tree—-impudent 
aud grinning at their old masters. The coun¬ 
try was in ruins. The beautiful homes they 
had left were fallen. Thousands of the friends 
with whom they had marched away, were 
now sleepiug on battle-fields from which they 
could bring no glory. The very color of their 
uniforms was a national disgrace. The flag 
they had worshipped was in the dust. They 
could bring no glorious words with which to 
bind up the bleeding hearts that waited for 
them. Women were waiting for their hus¬ 
bands, their sous or their brothers. Old men 
were watching with sad eyes for the boys who 
were far away under the sod. What comfort 
could such sad hearts take from the bitter 
story of defeat ? It is the saddest page of all 
history—sad that such bravery, such devotion 
should be wasted. 
It was hardest for Jack to see the way in 
which the ladies received these defeated sol¬ 
diers. The people of the town never turned 
out to meet the soldiers. They came iu sullen 
sileuee and took up the bitter round of life as 
best they could. There were no reproaches. 
The women all knew that these men had done 
their best. There were flowers and garlands 
and tender words of encouragement for the 
brave—brave and honorable even in defeat. 
For a time the people waited in sullen de¬ 
spair. Labor was completely disorganized 
and the country lay one great heap of ruins. 
There was but little incentive to work. The 
w’ounds were too sore, the hearts too bitter. 
The South sat brooding over her defeat. Jack 
tried at first, honestly, to win back the esteem 
of his old comrades, but it w’as a useless task 
The people slimmed him—he was a traitor in 
their eyes ami they could not forgive him. He 
lived a life horrible in its loneliness. His very 
associates seemed to drive him farther and 
farther from society. The negroes and white 
Republicans saw fbat his own peoj^e drove 
him aside, aud they tried to bring him rato 
their party. They promised him any office, 
and they were in a condition to carry out 
their promises. He never would go with them, 
yet they were the only companions he could 
find. His old companions and the people with 
whom he had been raised thought he had 
joined the despised party, and lie fell lower 
than ever iu their estimation. 
At last the people rose against the negro 
rule. For years they had fought against it, 
but now they rose with savage purpose to 
push it by one supreme effort out of sight for¬ 
ever. Stem, determined, desperate men, who 
felt that they were fighting for all that was 
sacred and true, rose against their former 
slaves, ignorant and incapable. Such a con¬ 
test could have but one result—the weak went 
to the wall. 
When the negro and “carpet bagger” gov¬ 
ernment foil like a rope of sand, the white 
people changed in sentiment aud action. 
Many of the men who had joined the Ku 
Klux or the “Red Shirts,’’simply because they 
had been driven to desperation by what they 
considered a National crime, went quietly 
about their business, aud were the strongest 
supporters of law and order. A better feeling 
began to prevail. Improvements were con¬ 
templated, for people felt that their homes 
and their property were safer. They consid¬ 
ered Republicanism aud negro government ns 
surely dead. They knew little difference be¬ 
tween the two, for they had always come to 
them together. After the horrors through 
which they had passed, they thought they 
were justified in takiug extreme measures to 
prevent any return of the old days. As the 
timesgrew better. Jack began to guiti a little 
of the confidence of his old comrades. They 
never quite forgave him, but the memory of 
his crime—for so they still called it—faded a 
little. But Lucy never would even look at 
her old lover She always passed him with¬ 
out a sign. and his life was full of misery. 
But for his promise to his mother he would 
have gone away, but that promise held him to 
the scene of his sorrow. He worked aimless¬ 
ly on with a great hunger at. his heart, think¬ 
ing oftentimes of the prisoners for whom he 
had given so much. 
(To be continued.) 
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